Friction
by MaySoFarAway
Summary: Sequel to Someone You've Yet To Meet. Two very similar, very passionate people, with an age difference and lots of bad guys to fight, are bound to have their difficulties.
1. Chapter 1

((An angsty sequel to Someone You've Met To Meet. I was in the brainplace to write something wild and unruly, while going through some really structured stuff in my original fiction, and so these two get the love ;) I hope it's fun! As always, while I love the look of X-Men movieverse, for me, their canon ended after X2. Because of lore-ragey reasons.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Friction

.

.

.

.

.

.

Sometimes he remembers, just how young she is. When she's belting out songs he's never heard in the shower, or tugging on panties with Adventure Time characters on 'em, he remembers that she's only a few years older than Jubilee. Granted, these are the trivial details. She's also smart as a whip, attentive, kind, and way too insightful for her twenty-two years. Picturing her with one of the punks her own age who stare too long at her tits at the record store just seems off. Logan knows he's biased, though.

God can she be such a petulant kid sometimes, though.

When the suit comes off and she tosses her badge away, it's cute, the way she puts on that pout and wraps herself around him on her ratty old couch in Queens, telling him about her long, busy day. She's a fuckin' Valkyrie at work, he's seen it. Even if she's the most junior of the three liaisons to the Avengers, herding cats in their labs, she's authoritative and doesn't take anyone's shit, not even Tony Stark's. So Logan kind of loves it, that he's one of the people who gets to see her dissolve back into his gypsy kid who just wants to get naked and eat greasy takeout with him, when he's visiting her in the City.

There are other times, though. Logan knows real well, how much of a picnic he -isn't-, so he doesn't let it rile him as much as another guy might when she goes into one of her moods. When everything gets her ornery, complaining about the most trivial shit, starting an argument just because she can, because she likes the making up. Thing is, he loves her like this, too. When she starts itching for the road and the tossing away of responsibility, that bit of her vagrant mother in her. When all she wants for dinner is beer and wings, when she laughs too loud at the bar, and when she drags him in for a slow, dirty kiss out in public because she likes the way it makes the people stare.

It's immature and volatile and damnit, Logan loves it. Most of the time, anyway. He's always kind of glad, though, when she goes back to the happy kid who tugged him out of his shell, who makes him a better man all the time...but then, Logan figures he could never be with someone who didn't bring out both the best and the worst of him. Maybe that wasn't the most healthy thing, but...aw, hell. Logan's only human. Mostly.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy loves when it's her bi-monthly four-day weekend, because that means she hops on the back of her new-to-her, second-hand motorcycle and speeds up to Westchester. Riding across Canada that spring on the back of Logan's bike had given her a fever, and all of her summer bonus that hadn't gone toward school loans had bought this sexy old gal. She still preferred having her arms around her guy, but they lived apart and a girl needed her own kickass ride. The drive up from the City is more fun this way too, her hair fanning out behind her on the wind, from under the WW2-style bike helmet her buddy Steve Rogers had found for her.

So she arrives as she always does at Xavier's Institute, tousled and flushed, grinning as she tugs off her leather jacket and makes her way through the front room. Logan's got combat training down below with his students for another hour, but Darcy's pretty sure she can entertain herself, "Where my mutant bitches at?" She calls out, and gets a snort in reply from across the room.

"You're early, sugar," Rogue smiles wide, wrapping her up in a hug. Darcy hugs her friend back tightly, grinning.

"Yeah, I though I'd try and get some Marie-time in, before I get carried off by my caveman boyfriend for hot sexin's," She says, making Rogue wrinkle her nose.

"Thanks for that, really. Come'on, there's pizza."

Much as she's anxious to see her fella (between missions on both the Avengers and X-Men fronts, it's been three weeks at this point), Darcy loves seeing Marie, too. Her only real girlfriend in the City is Jane, and as busy as Darcy is, Jane Foster is busier. Or perhaps more insane and obsessive is a more accurate description, but at SHIELD, those are all pretty synonymous. So it's more than nice, reconnecting with her old pal from highschool when she's in Westchester. She knows how hard it can be, for superheros to leave the home base...not that Logan's any example. He stays around when the world is at risk, at least.

"So how's work?" Rogue drawls with a grin, as they sit cross-legged across from each other on the vast kitchen's floor, beers in hand and two open pizza boxes between them. "I saw the last Hyrda attack on tv, didn't look like a summer picnic."

"I was armed and guarding the research, but nope," Darcy chuckles, "Work's all right. It's good, you know? Feeling like you're doing something? It's just..." She sighs, "...My 'doing something' isn't like leaping into the action. I mean, I passed combat training, I can fight off someone...I can, like I said, guard the labs," She smirks, "And I don't envy you or Thor or Logan, being face to face with it daily. I just...uuuuuugh Marie, sitting at a desk is SOUL CRUSHING."

"I get ya," Rogue snorts, laughing, "Least, I can imagine it. Never pictured you shufflin' paperwork Darce, figured you'd be a lawyer yellin' in court...or a vagrant convict, yellin' in court," A wink, "Still, you can always up your trainin', I got faith in ya! And y'do know that your life IS still way more exciting than other folks', mmm?"

"Oh yeah, always!" Darcy maintains, taking a swig of her beer, "I mean, I boss around the Hulk and Iron Man all day, I aint knockin' it. S'just..." She trails off, and then just grins, "...Well, let's just say it's a good thing I've got Logan."

"Gotchya," Rogue smirks, and then...sighs, taking a long drink from her own bottle, "...Remy and I broke up."

"No!" Darcy gapes, and then scoots over to give her girl a hug, "When?! Why?!"

"Oh, it's always somthin' or the other," Rogue grumbles, "...This time though it might be for a while. Man runs too hot, Darcy, caught 'im butterin' up one of the new students last week," She frowns, "...Maybe I am the jealous type but come'on, callin' a fifteen year old 'cher'?"

"...Oh you kids," Darcy rolls her eyes, but keeps dolling out the hugs, "You'll take him back next week. Cause he'll give you those eyes, cause he can't not check out that bod and not remember how sweet you are, and your panties will melt." Darcy was well-versed in what often occurred when two superheroes dated each other. Personality types came together that normally wouldn't, but for something special that put them on the same team. Neutron bombs would tell 'em to tone it down.

"...Yeah you're probably right," Rogue smirks, tossing her hair, leaning her head on Darcy's, "Still. Man's an idiot."

"Yep. Men, idiots, curse them all with gangrenous balls!"

"Here here!"

.

.

.

.

"Really?" Logan's voice has her straightening up again in an instant, "Little time t'wait, and you go lesbian on me?" He cracks a grin, leaning in the kitchen doorframe, his hair damp from his post-training shower. Darcy bites her lip, grinning, and Rogue waves her off.

"Aw go on, one of us should be gettin' laid," She rises, kissing Darcy's cheek and giving Logan a wink, as she sways out of the room with her beer, "Show my girl a good time, sugar," Rogue pats a bicep, heading down the hall to her room. Logan chuckles, shaking his head. And then Darcy's leaping at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and yanking him down for a kiss. Logan's hands grip her hips hard, tugging her in close and growling against her mouth, and as always, Darcy feels it somewhere deep and feral in her belly.

"Three weeks is way too long," He murmurs, lifting her up without any effort and tossing her over his shoulder as she busts out laughing. Darcy knows it's a primal, not-very-enlightened response, but damnit, she loves it when he goes cave man on her, because almost nothing turns her on more. The fact that she knows how good what follows will be, makes his possessive nature all the hotter for her. She's got a good cave man.

"Agreed," She grins, as he carries her to his rooms, giving his ass a smack, "Long day of molding brilliant mutant minds into killing machines, baby?"

"You know it," Wolverine nods, sliding a hand up her leg before he deposits her onto the bed. She doesn't waste time, reaching out for his white t-shirt and pushing it up over his head. Darcy can't help letting out a groan, leaning in and tugging him toward her, pressing her mouth to his abs, his chest. He pushes off her button-up shirt as she works her way up, rising to her knees to kiss his neck, nails scraping through the hair on his chest. "Missed you," It rumbles through him, and Darcy grins wide, biting him gently.

"Missed you too," She giggles, flopping back on the bed so that he can tug off her jeans, tossing them away and looming over her, propped up on his elbows. Darcy bites her lip, as she arches her back to unhook and discard her bra, not breaking eye-contact as she does. She loves the way his eyes darken, the more of her he sees. Logan can be like a man starved, when it's been a while. Not that Darcy doesn't share the sentiment, it's just that on Logan, the feeling is tangible, physical, all over his face, his frame. He doesn't hide anything, then.

The way he handles her, kisses her, groans when he buries his face in her tits, there's no act there, no pretension, and it's not how he'd be with just anyone, she's gathered. At least, not unless he felt the way he does, with her. Sometimes it still creeps up and terrifies Darcy, in that old, run-before-the-feelings-happen way. Now, though, on the rare occasion that it does scare her, it's like the fun, leap in the guts terror of watching a scary movie, or riding a roller coaster, nothing more, nothing less, and only has her clutching him tighter, shoving off his jeans with her feet.

He pauses over the new stitches across her collarbone, giving her a sharp look, but Darcy just shakes her head, hooking her thumbs in her panties and tossing them away, "Just a scratch," She murmurs, tugging him toward her, "Hydra bastard got a little too friendly with our tech, I kinda...shot him a few times," She hears him let out a long breath, even as he kisses her again, hands splayed on her hips.

"Course you did," Logan smirks, pressing into her, and Darcy whimpers, her thoughts going to mush, with his hands in her hair and on her tits, and that cock inside of her. "Now, for how much I don't like you gettin' hurt..." And oh, does he ever show her, and the kind of possessiveness has her wrapping her arms tight around his neck, clutching him close as they rock into each other, dissolving into gasps and groans.

.

.

.

.

.

.

He sees it in the way she's moving tonight, wearing one of his shirts now and bracing her hands on the window frame, looking out over the grounds and places beyond, places north. It's been too long again, in the same city doing the same thing, and Darcy will be wanting to go runnin', for a while. She's not like him, not completely. She'd never leave her job, her friends, the people who count on her without a word and for months at a time. That's Logan's MO. But she needs something, maybe he can get her to just train more, downstairs, become even more of a BAMF, have more to do, much as he hates the idea of her in the action. It'd only help so much, though.

Sometimes he kinda worries. He worries that he's sparking that vagrant side of her more and more, like how she's woken up that possessive, almost-obsessive side of him. He's found his head muddied by her more and more, and Darcy's been itching for the road more often. Jane Foster even scolded him once, when he was in the City, for getting her best friend all ornery and wanderlusting, just as she'd started to settle in to her new home and her new job. Thing is, worrying or not, Logan's still not sure if he feels sorry about it.

"We should head out again, sometime soon," Darcy grins, presently, looking back at him, where he's sprawled on his bed. "S'almost fall, and almost a year since we met, we should give our old pal, The Majestic North, another visit." Logan chuckles.

"Think they'd let you run off with me yet again?" He cocks a brow as she sways back to him and god damnit, those hips of hers should be a crime.

"Eh, I can butter up Coulson well enough," She shrugs, straddling his legs. Logan can't help himself, his hands go to her curves like a moth to flame, pushing his shirt up off her thighs. She swallows, wriggling a little, already ready to go again. "I get cranky in the office too long. He doesn't like me when I'm cranky."

"Y'do get almost She-Hulk cranky," He smirks, leaning up to kiss her. "...We'll run off soon, gypsy-girl. Still gotta lot to do, though."

"Mmmm, if only there were more bad guys attacking, keeping my job interesting..." She sighs, jokingly, but Logan still grips her legs hard, swallowing.

"Don't ever wish that, baby," He growls, kissing her again. Her body tenses, but only for a moment, and then she's melting against him again. Of course she bristles, it's how she is. Darcy still seems to think that it's never her, who's the breakable one, even as she's surrounded by mutants and super soldiers and men in iron suits. There's a confidence that comes with that, which he loves about her. There's also a fool-hardy streak that drives him crazy.

She's young and she's nuts.

And bless her, Logan loves it. It might one day give him the heart-attack that finally kills him. But he loves it.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	2. Chapter 2

((Sorry this one is taking longer to update than my other stories have! Unlike most of my yarns though, the more filler/buildup chapters happen early on in my blueprint for this one, thus pushing myself through them makes the start even slower. I find it passes more swiftly, though, when I include smut ;) The slight building of tension and avoidance, here.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 2

.

.

.

.

.

.

It's been a few months now but it's still a novelty, waking up next to Darcy. Likely because they don't see each other nearly as much as either of them would like, but also because it's been a long time for Logan, with anyone. He has his nightmares and subsequent habit of lashing out, thrashing and being violent in his sleep to thank for that. But after a couple of nights, during which he -may- have made her wear Kevlar to bed, he realizes that with Darcy, his dreams, flashbacks, they really don't mess with his head. Not for the first time, he wishes she could stay all the time...so does Charles, he's sure, as Logan hasn't shredded any of the pillows lately.

And he loves watching her wake up. The way she'll stretch, wrinkle her nose in protest to the day, and then press herself into his side, shielding her eyes from the sun with one of her pillows. "Why the hell are the curtains open?" Darcy grumbles against him, and Wolverine chuckles.

"Cause y'left 'em open last night, darlin'," He drawls back, before yawning wide, reaching over and brushing a hand over her curls, under the pillow. "I might've distracted you though, after..." Darcy surfaces from her ocean of bedding, giving him a smile. It's somewhat ruined by the squinting and blinking.

"...Yep, so much so, that I forgot to take out my contacts, curse you and those killer abs!" She sighs, sliding over him again, taking his face in her hands. God help him, he's more than ready to go, and she just looks so fuckin' good in the morning light, all tousled and wanton. He's damn near poetical right now, and he blames it on her, for keeping his nightmares away. "Mmmm, don't you have morning combat training to teach?"

"It'll wait," Logan growls, pulling her mouth down to his.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Some time later, Darcy sits out on one of the balconies with Marie and a cup of coffee. Summer's ending in New York but the grounds of the institute are still lush and green, despite the dip in temperature. Classes are picking up, the students who don't live there year-round returning. There's a morning class going on out on the grass, Professor Ororo taking advantage of the cooling, yet still comfortable weather.

"I've often wondered, about the wisdom of keeping a whole bunch of kids here, when there are bad guys out there who want to kill you all," Darcy notes, to which Marie snorts.

"No safer place for 'em, especially since they came up with an actual contingency plan. And you're one to talk, The Avengers all live in a Tower and a mansion, with their reeeeal mortal girlfriends and boyfriends," Rogue replies, her drawl a touch wry. "Has Logan tried to bully you down to the Danger Room yet, by the way?" Darcy chuckles, nodding.

"Yeah, it's like he's been plotting or something. I don't know, I've passed SHIELD's advanced combat training, I'm not sure how sending out mutants for me to dodge is productive," She grins and shrugs as she says it, but the way she tugs the shawl around her shoulders a little tighter might be telling. Darcy knows it's one of her more transparent ticks, the way she armors herself in her more brilliant, superhero-type friends...the warm, green shawl was in a pile of clothes that Jane got sent home with from Asgard, once. She also might be wearing a pair of Clint Barton's PJ pants, patterned with Mockingjays and discarded after a morning of Tony's relentless teasing over Hawkeye's Hunger Games fandom. "...Seeing my latest injury probably didn't help 'im."

"What." Rogue deadpans. Darcy sighs, tugging aside her shawl and tanktop to show off her stitched-up collarbone. The other girl winces. "Yeah, no, tha'd get any man worryin', Sugar."

"It's just a minor injury, though!" Darcy protests, huffing, "I work for SHIELD. I might not be a superhero, or as BAMF as Coulson and Hill, but I'm still gonna be in the line of fire sometimes."

"And Logan is always gonna be a big ol' wall of feral, possessive fury," Marie reminds her, a corner of her mouth quirking up, "...And so'm I. Cause maybe learnin' how to dodge folks who can kill you with eye lasers? Aint such a ridiculous thing." Darcy rolls her eyes, but her sigh is resigned. I mean, you can only complain about the people you love looking out for you for so long, before you start to sound like an ungrateful idiot.

"Oh fine. At least while I'm here, anyway..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Complain she might, but Darcy can never turn down a sleek bodysuit. She left her SHIELD workout clothes back in the City, but that's hardly a problem. The mansion is stocked with all sizes imaginable. They'd have to be, after housing both Colossus and Shadowcat. Darcy zips herself up to her chin, and then, as usual, back down a few inches, giving Logan a wink, "Remember the deal," She says, tugging her hair up into a tight ponytail, and then braiding it, "I train with X-Men, you take me someplace nice, with moose."

"I remember just fine," Logan grins, tossing her a pair of gloves after giving her cleavage an appreciative inspection, "Next week, you and me on the back of the bike."

"That's my man," She tugs on the gloves, shaking her head, "I still don't understand why you're so riled up about this, I train with Superheroes a couple times a week as is."

"Yeah? Is Tony Stark blastin' his palm at ya? Rogers, he givin' you the full brunt of his fist?" Logan cocks a brow, and Darcy tries to glare at him, and fails. "S'what I thought. They care 'bout you too much back home."

"Oh, and Rogue, Jubes, and your students are MORE excited about hurting -Wolverine's- girlfriend?" Darcy shoots back, crossing her arms. Logan just smirks, taking her arm and tugging her out of the lockers.

"Just trust me."

Darcy's never been in the Danger Room before, though she's heard stories. Thus she's maybe a little disappointed, when all she's greeted with is a vast, steel-reenforced cavern. At a second glance, though, as she wanders in, she can see seams in the metal here and there, where the weapons must be hidden. There'd probably be no weapons this afternoon, though. Nope, there was just the trio of mutants waiting for her. Jubes and Iceman, looking a little sheepish, and Rogue, who was swiftly tapping something into the tablet in her hands.

"Ready, kiddo?" Logan sent her way, and Rogue nodded.

"Juuuust about," She squints, aiming the tablet at Darcy for a moment, grinning at her friend, "Sorry Sugar, I couldn't miss this. All right, she's in the system!"

"...Is that Stark tech?" Darcy can't help asking, as Rogue slides the tablet into the wall.

"You know it, can't leave the Professor alone with that guy for too long, science starts happenin'." She grins.

"All right, all right..." Logan tugs Darcy toward him, kissing her forehead, "Now, darlin'...start runnin'."

"...What?" But he's giving her ass a light smack, and in her periphery she sees Jubilee's hands lighting up, the younger girl's eyes suddenly bright, her grin wide. With a yelp, Darcy runs.

The first time a blast bounces off of the generated shield around her, she actually laughs, shaking her head. "Dirty trick, not telling me!" She calls out, tucking into a roll to avoid the barrage of icicles Bobby sends at her, even if she IS a little pissed that no one warned her, "...Why aren't these standard?!"

"They're generated by...thingers all over this room," Logan chuckles, though he's watching her closely, Darcy can tell. His senses are up and he isn't missing a move of hers, a reaction, an expression, as she dodges. She's glad, it means he isn't missing how pissed she is at him, under the fun of this training. "...Blame Beast, he dreamed it up after studyin' some Stark tech. Handy for trainin', though."

"Yeah?" Darcy leaps out of the way of one of Jubes' fireworks, but if it weren't for the shield, she'd probably have singed hair. She sends Logan a glare, "When do I get to fight back though, eh?" Logan smirks, tossing her her glock.

"They're all shielded too. Have at it, kids."

All right, so this might be a damn dirty trick on Logan and Rogue's part to get her to enjoy more training, but Darcy finds herself not caring, at least for the moment. This is maybe the most fun she's had training, no holds barred. She almost wishes Natasha and Steve -were- there, unafraid of pulling punches as they sparred. She'd have to mention this to them, at any rate, see if some tech-sharing could happen. She certainly wouldn't be the only non-super SHIELD agent who'd benefit.

When Marie finally has her down for the count, a gloved hand to her shielded throat, Logan calls it for the day. Smiling, Rogue helps her friend up, "Never thought I'd enjoy beatin' you up so much, Darce."

"Oh you did," Darcy grumbles, even as she's grinning, "Payback for all those times I got you grounded in highschool, don't even try to deny it."

"I won't," Rogue maintains, with a wink and a toss of her hair.

.

.

.

.

.

.

He knows it might be coming, on the way to the showers afterward. The set of her shoulders, even as she high-fives Jubilee and teases Rogue. She's not entirely pleased with him, Logan can tell, can smell it all over her. When they're finally alone in the locker room, sure enough, Darcy sighs, shaking out her hair and eying him over her shoulder. "...You could've told me, you know. Warned me? I was scared shitless until Jubes actually hit me..."

"I wanted t'see how you'd do," Logan flexes his fingers, looking down at the place where his claws so often split open his knuckles, and not at her face, "How you'd react. Y'were fast, darlin', but..."

"But not fast enough, fine," She unzips her jumpsuit and peels it off, leaving her in her tanktop and shorts. He tries not to look, as she's pissed at him, but, well, Logan is only a man. "A little warning would've gone a long way with my reaction time, Logan."

"Exactly," He huffs, shaking his head, "Won't be warnin's, out in the field, you know that Darcy. Might not be mutant or suped up, but yer reflexes can be honed, yer instincts sharpened..."

"Then TELL me that!" She grumbles, tossing away her clothes, and goddamnit, she's angry and she's not even trying, but that body of hers just does him in, every time. Maybe especially when she's angry. All Logan knows for sure is that he's having a very physical reaction, to the sight and the scent of her, all half-naked and sweaty and worked up, "Don't just...spring it on me, like I'm some kind of green kid."

"Aren't you?" It slips out. He blames his distracted, hot-blooded head, but no, that's kind of a cop-out, even he'll admit that. It's how he really feels, more often than he'd admit, and she can tell. Darcy's eyes sharpen on him then, huffing, shaking her head. "I just mean," He licks his lips, and then just admits it, right out, "...Aw fuck, Darce, you ARE young, and fresh inna field, and..."

"No, don't pull that one on me now," She raises a finger, and even in just her bra and boyshorts, she's commanding as hell, especially when Logan's half-enslaved to his primal responses, "Don't go all mentor on me, just cause you can play the 'older and wiser' card," Darcy sighs, "Even if you ARE like, 200 years older than me, I'm your girlfriend Logan, NOT your student, or your ward. We're supposed to -talk- about shit."

"I know," He murmurs, looking down again and letting out a handful of claws because hell, he needs to let out -something-, gritting his teeth as he does, "...You just. Can't know how it feels, darlin'. Seein' you, all soft an'...human. Out there in fights that only people who aint just human can win..." It isn't easy to say, but he does, looking back at her. Slowly, her stance relaxes, from defensive to wary, from wary to wry. Logan lets his claws retract, and she sighs, smiling a little, shaking her head.

"...Okay, I kinda get that feel, I guess," She admits right back, talking in internet-speak, like she and Jubes always do. "...I worry about you, too..."

"Even though I walk away from most every fight, scars healin' over?" Logan looks at her then, hard, "While you've got...got nothin', but a layer of Kevlar and those reflexes..."

"Okay, okay," She whispers, shaking her head, "...I can be better at this, yeah. Just..." Darcy bites her lip, that sweet kid again, who makes his insides tie themselves up in knots, and Logan's bent, twisted around her finger, "...Tell me. Talk to me. Don't just spring a fuckin' attack on me..."

"...Deal, baby," He rumbles, and she smiles again, reaching back and unhooking her bra.

"Good. Now. You comin' or am I washing all this sweat off alone?" She asks, turning to go, swaying her hips as she moves toward the showers. Logan's grin goes wolfish, pushing off the lockers and following.

She was more dangerous than he gave her credit for.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	3. Chapter 3

(( I know it crops up often, but I really do I love the GreenDarcy/MentorPhil friendship. He's my oracle of SHIELD, always. Also, as always, Logan's vague, angsty past is a blend of the film and comic canon (I could ALMOST like Origins, but for how they abused my poor Wade. WAAAADE.). Last carefree chapter for a while. Spot the MiB reference!))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 3

.

.

.

.

.

.

Jane is outright annoyed when Darcy says that her leave has been approved, but Darcy chalks most of that up to the fact that her friend doesn't like leaving her nutritional health to some mother-hen intern who doesn't count toaster-oven fare as food. Or at least, she tries to tell herself as much, even as her former bosslady fixes her with a far too knowing look. "You're running away from normalcy again, Darce." Jane flat-out tells her, as she shuts down her computer.

"I am running off to have an anniversary trip with my boyfriend," Darcy retorts airily, chin tilted upward at the appropriate angle of shut-the-hell-up. "So -you- can hardly talk, Miss Asgard, 2013."

Jane waves a hand, smiling in that resigned, knowing way, but Phil Coulson had been harder to shrug off, earlier.

He'd linked his fingers together on the top of his desk, her request sheet between them. It was harder for Darcy, with Phil. Not quite a boss, not nearly a parent figure, he was more like that big brother mentor figure, who was hard on her but also understood her and where she was coming from. He was like that with most agents under him, she'd noticed. The part of Darcy Lewis that would always kind of be a teenager responded to Agent Coulson, in a way she didn't to most of the brass, not even Nick Fury. And damnit, Phil knew it, too.

"Are you unhappy here, Agent Lewis?" He asks mildly enough, but Darcy already feels her limbs going limp, sighing, shaking her head.

"I love it here," She tells him, honestly, "And I really do just want a couple of uninterrupted weeks with my guy, yeah. But..." Darcy bites her lip, "...I dunno, Coulson. Being one of the squishy ones sucks...how do you deal? I mean, you're not behind a desk, like I am, and you aren't all that squishy either, but..."

"...But I was, once," Phil replies, evenly. Darcy blinks, and he smirks, "I didn't start working for a government organization, and then immediately take on Iron Man, Darcy. I was a low-level grunt first, a step you skipped altogether. I wasn't at my current level of responsibility until years of combat training and first-hand experience dealing with the bad guys had happened." Darcy gulps, looking at him hopefully.

"...So I've already skipped a bit..." She surmises, and Coulson nods, "...That's something, yeah. But... knowing that I still have -years- to go as one of the squishy ones to -be- shielded..."

"And even then," He cuts in, pressing a hand to his chest, over the place where she knew a jagged scar split his chest down the middle, "...A trained, seasoned Agent is still only human, Agent Lewis."

"...I hate being human, Phil. Don't you?"

"No," He says evenly, "Because I, and you, we have something they won't ever have again," Darcy lofts a brow, and Phil smiles, "Foresight."

"I might need to work on mine..." She sighs, smiling a little as he approves her form, "...Speaking of being squishy though, are you aware of the shielding technology our buddies up in Westchester have come up with for the Danger Room?"

"...Tell me more."

.

.

.

.

.

.

It's telling, and a little frightening to both of them, Darcy thinks, that few things feel as normal as this. Logan on the bike, her pressed up behind him with her arms around his waist like a vice, the air getting progressively chillier the further they go. But this is, after all, how they started, in a place far removed, with their lives stripped simple and bare. Just the two of them and their damage, up in his native (to his memory, anyway) North. She wouldn't mind if it could always be like this, musing on the image. Not that Darcy's in a hurry to leave her awesome life in New York, of course. But between being in deep with Super-people, the government agencies who try to own 'em, and the villains who try to kill 'em, life might -never- really be simple for them, and that's a depressing thought sometimes.

But right now, she doesn't let those thoughts in. Right now, Darcy's as happy as she's ever been. She presses her cheek to Logan's leather jacket and takes in the passing country. Colors are deeper up in Ontario, and when they stop for the night a few days in, Darcy lingers in the door frame until the sun is slipping away, arms resting over her head. "It's funny," She grins, when he wraps an arm around her and tugs her back into their motel room, mouth at her neck, "...Never really traveled up here with my mom, back in the van days. And yet I get homesick for it all the time..."

"Gonna go ahead and take credit for that," He rumbles, over her laughing as he tosses her back on the bed.

"Mmm go right ahead," Darcy murmurs, already pushing off his layers, breathing deep the scent of his worn leather and denim as she does.

Afterward, with her head resting on his bare chest, fingers tracing muscle and sinew, Darcy finds herself boneless and hazy, her tongue free in her mouth. Her lips turn up a bit, glancing up at him under his fresh cloud of cigar smoke. "You get homesick for this too," She murmurs, sliding up a little to look him in the eye, "And you did way before I came along, I can tell..."

"Never could really explain it, but yeah," Logan chuckles, "Even as a drifter. Somethin'...kept bringin' me back North," A slow, thoughtful frown crosses his brow, the kind he gets when he can almost peer backwards, through the thick veil that rests over his memory, "...Think I musta been real happy up here, once...and, I guess I am again," The smirk returns, a hand resting in her hair. Darcy bites her lip, eyes on his face.

"But you stayed in New York..."

"Lotsa folks I care about there," He nods once, "Lot more purpose to my life...and most importantly," He grumbles, "Nobody'd ever leave me the hell alone, if I went off on my own. Heroes or villains." Darcy grins, kissing his cheek.

"A point I proved a year ago," She yawns.

"...Still, if I ever could, if I ever thought I -would- be left alone..." He eyes her sideways, "I'd run off, yeah. Middle of nowhere, maybe have a family...get old an' useless huntin' and fishin'." Her grin widens.

"You?" Her brows go up. Cause honestly, while the thought seems far-off enough for Darcy, she'd kinda gotten the impression that Logan was of the -never- settle mentality. Let alone a family; the man often referred to Jubilee and a couple of his other students as 'the kids he'll never have'. "Thought you hated rugrats, -and- staying still," Her tone is light, teasing, but genuinely curious. He gives her a steady look this time, licking his lips.

"True. Live long enough, though, and..." He shrugs, "...Hell, I guess I'll never feel age knockin', now will I? That's somethin' that still hasn't settled in my head, though, not even after all this time..."

"...You mean, bitter and grumpy as you are," She's definitely teasing now, but also enjoying this new information, tilting her head, "You still think you'll grow up someday?" Logan smirks again, around a puff of smoke.

"Stranger shit has happened, darlin'," He rumbles, "You're the one screwin' an old man." She blows a raspberry at him, sitting up and shaking out her hair, letting it fall around her bare shoulders.

"...How do you know you haven't already had kids?" She finds herself asking, and then immediately regrets it. They've rarely talked at length, about the huge gap in his memory. Well, -gap- is kind of a gross understatement. Research and digging had estimated his age at nearly 200, which Logan remembers maybe only the last fifth of. Maybe. "Erm, I mean..." But he's just shrugging, reaching out and tracing the tattoo on her spine with rough fingers. Twining morning glories, she shivers pleasantly under his touch.

"Pretty sure we'd know," He clears his throat, "Professor highly doubts my healing gene wouldn't get passed on, and any kid of mine would be way past puberty, and on his radar by now."

"...It had been -that- long before me, since you'd gotten laid?" Darcy blinks. Logan just smirks. A wide grin moves over her lips, "...Guess that kinda explains the anger issues there, eh big guy...unf!" He pulls her down again, flicking his cigar off into the ashtray with excellent aim. She giggles as she's suddenly under him, framed in his big arms, rolling her hips up against his, "...And why you're kind of insatiable..."

"Nah, that part's all you, darlin'..." He murmurs, leaning down to claim her lips. Darcy's more than okay with that.

.

.

.

.

.

.

When they pass through a small town a few days later and a lot further north, Darcy insists on lingering, and Logan doesn't have much problem with that. She's off almost as soon as they find a place to stay, darting into the first second-hand shop she sees, and Logan just chuckles, shaking his head. Sometimes he wonders if, besides her work suits, she owns a single brand new thing. Not that he's complaining, he likes the way she dresses and decorates her apartment, like the gypsy hobo she is. It's even started creeping into his suite at the mansion which, all right. Not like there was much there to begin with. He even kinda likes the old quilts and creepy cat statues.

The thought sticks with him, though, as he wanders the main-street outside their hotel, hands in his pockets. He muses on her lack of new things despite her sizable paycheck from SHIELD, the way Darcy rarely ever treats herself, saving up for things like her bike, and it jars his memory for exactly what day it is. With a wry twitch of the lips, Logan takes pause outside of a shop window himself, peering inside thoughtfully. "...Aw what th' hell," He murmurs, ducking inside.

.

.

.

That night, when they're getting ready to hunt down a bar that serves wings, she tosses on something short, olive green and lacy that looks like it's from the 60's, swiping on her red lipstick, and Logan decides not to wait. "Know it aint technically 'til tomorrow, but," He clears his throat gruffly, handing her a small, wrapped box. Darcy's brows shoot up, and he grins, "...Don't worry, it 'aint a ring."

"I could be cool with one, maybe, it's your sanity I'd be worrying about," She teases, bouncing on her heels slightly, as she opens the velvety little box. Her eyes light up at the bit of shine inside, and Logan takes it as a good sign. Maybe he wasn't totally hopeless with women. Though more than likely, the case was that he just knew Darcy. "I love it," She murmurs, holding the sea-glass pendant up to the waning light through the windows. "Ah!" Her grin widens, at the colors it casts on the wall, "The northern lights..."

"Mhmm," Logan obligingly moves around behind her, to clasp the silver chain around her neck, "Year ago tomorrow, I kissed you for th' first time..."

"...As I remember, though, you were also a total box-tease that night," Her expression is soft, though, when she turns around to look up at him, biting her lip, "You've got a better memory than -any- dude should have, Wolvie." That grin again, and he's chuckling, pulling her toward him and kissing her forehead.

"Only for th' best thing that's ever happened to me," He murmurs against her skin, feeling her intake of breath, soft and fluttering. "...Might still need reminders for your birthday." She pulls back, grinning and catching his lips in a kiss.

"Come'on Romeo, I'm starving," She links her fingers with his, though, as she tugs him out of their room. Logan's pretty pleased with himself. Mind, he'll be beating himself up again before the night is over, but, win some, lose some.

.

.

.

.

.

.

So maybe Darcy can be a little bit of a brat. She admits this freely. Well, all right, maybe not -freely-, but she also doesn't deny it when it's brought up. She can also be manipulative, but even her best friends (all two of them) would admit that it's almost always harmless. Almost.

Case in point, Darcy knows she's pretty. She's not perfect, by the current narrow standards, but she's cute and feisty and has the kind of figure that can make most men (and women, and everything in between) stupid. She also has a boyfriend who is rather possessive. Reasonably, yes, but the man is more than a little, well. He isn't called the Wolverine for nothing. And Darcy loves it. In fact, it's a kink she hadn't known she had. Mind, she's only ever slept with one man, but Darcy still thought she knew what wound her up, before Logan. It turns out that what actually winds up Darcy is big arms, motorcycles, and the very best sort of caveman behavior.

She's perfectly fine with this.

In fact, it was all the best intentions that had her not quite discouraging the guy at the bar who was hitting on her. Her guy had won mad points with her already that evening, she was kind of eager for the night to end early and on a hot, riled-up note. She was enjoying her wings, watching Logan at the pool table playing some guy he'd been talking bikes with at the bar, when some tall, broad dude leans on the bar beside her, grinning. Darcy flashes him a brief smile back, and apparently that's encouragement enough.

"You're real pretty tonight!"

"Oh? Have you seen me other nights?" Darcy winks, grinning, and gets a sheepish laugh in return.

"...Buy you a drink?"

"Got one," Darcy lifts her pint, voice gone perky, "But thanks! Real sweet of ya!" And on cue, she feels Logan's eyes darting up her way. She tilts her head, as the guy leans closer, her grin widening. He's not a bad-looking guy, and big, but with what she thinks is a pleasant enough face. Her wonderfully predictable fellow should be getting his growl on in five, four, three...

"Ah next one then, you here alone, gorgeous?" Two, one...

"Nope," Logan replies as his arm snakes around her waist, and Darcy chuckles, shaking her head, hearing the smirk in his voice, "Move along, bub." She can imagine his eyes, though. Sharp and cool. And the hand rubbing her side tells her he knows just why she likes letting them go on saying nice things to her. What she doesn't expect, though, is the wry, challenging expression that moves over the new guy's previously pleasant face, sizing Logan up. Uh oh.

"Maybe I'm not in the mood, -bub-." Aw, shit.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Well, that could've gone better," Darcy sighs, sitting on the bench outside of his cell at the local Police station. Logan smirks, humorlessly, leaning against the bars. The bruising on his face is already fading, along with his worked up mood. Now he's just rightfully grumpy. She's glad, because used to it as she is, Darcy still gets a little scared when he's riled up and in a proper fight. A few hits from Logan's metal-lined fists had the guy from the bar on the ground, but after a few tasteless comments toward Darcy as he wiped his face, the claws had come out (purely for show...she hopes), and things had gone pear-shaped. "I uh, just wanted some jealous-Logan sex, I didn't..."

"Nah, not even slightly your fault darlin', clown would've been trouble either way, way he made a b-line for you," He growls, banging his head on the bars a few times. Darcy reaches through, rubbing his arm. They'd had the moral high ground in a silly bar tussle with a skeeze-ball of course, until the moment Logan had gone mutant. There was still no such thing as a moral high ground for mutants, not yet. And honestly, that was the worst part of it all. They could only run off and feel normal for so long, because the world was a fuckity place.

"...Y'called Chuck?"

"Two hours ago. Left messages with him AND Coulson, neither were answering though," Darcy frowns, "...we'll uh, see how this pans out...um, nobody's been down here for like, an hour." She glances around the small room, the two other cells. Only one other is occupied, by a dead-asleep drunk. There'd been an officer down here earlier, but he'd gone upstairs, and...

"Agent Lewis." Darcy's head snaps toward the door, frowning sharply.

"...Agent Sitwell?" She blinks, "How..."

"Your bail's been posted Mr. Logan, Mr. Patton won't be pressing charges," The normally calm, composed and wry man looks harried and sleep-deprived presently, and for some reason, he has the keys to Logan's cell. Darcy frowns deeply.

"...Sitwell, how did you get here so fast?" She asks, bluntly.

"And why'd Charles send a SHIELD agent?" Logan gathers up his jacket, "...And that clown looked -more- than ready to press charges, last I saw..."

"Less questions, the better," Sitwell motions for them to follow, sighing. Darcy wouldn't be surprised if she found out, later, that their buddy from the bar and the whole police station had been...flashy-thingied. "We need you both back in New York, ASAP. Hydra's tearing it apart and both teams have their hands full."

"...Fuckin' figures," Darcy groans, fingering her pendant. At her side, Logan is suddenly stony and silent, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they follow the Agent out.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	4. Chapter 4

((What can I say? I can't help pitting my ships against each other, however vaguely ;) Also, the first fic really informs Darcy's head in this canon, I can't say that enough. She made progress, as did Logan, but anyone who doesn't think they're still two crazyfaces is, well, a crazyface.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 4

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Nice legs!"

"Don't you have something to be setting on fire?" Darcy shoots Johnny Storm a sharp look, as he lifts his hands in surrender and backs out of the SHIELD labs, grinning wide. His sister manages a brief, apologetic smirk from where she's standing next to Bruce Banner's computer. The proper owner is, well, a bit green at the moment.

"You got here fast," Jane breathes, almost with relief, her eyes glued to her own screen as her fingers fly across her keyboard. That makes Darcy feel better, kicking off her ballet flats and tugging her bodysuit on over the dress she'd left Canada in (There'd been neither the time nor the privacy to change on the obscenely fast jet). Bosslady will never be able to function without her.

"Well, my boyfriend and his claws were top priority, and we come as a set now, I guess," She zips herself up, tugging out the pendant Logan gave her, and piles her hair onto her head, tugging on her boots, "What've we got?"

What they had was New York City, being surrounded. There was a bit of a standoff going, presently, a massive Hydra force cutting off all roads in and out of the city. It was all Darcy could do not to make every Batman reference. It became far easier to stay serious when she looked over Jane and Bruce's analysis of the radiation coming off of Hydra's weapons, which there were a lot of. Civilians had been cooperative in heading to safe areas, but they're still grim numbers. Darcy swallows hard, moving to one of the windows.

"...How did they hide all that?" She asks quietly, eyes on the ocean as the sun was rising. This felt way scarier than a sudden attack. For those, she'd be acting on reflexes, adrenaline, no time to think too hard about what was coming after her. Darcy had plenty of time right now, though, to think about all the people she loved who were going to be front and center today. Logan and Rogue were out there, Steve, Thor, and Jubilee. Her gloved fingers press hard into her temples.

"Something to figure out later," Agent Hill breezes in, "For now, our priority is their objective, and preventing it," She looks to Jane, to whom she tosses a weapon. The scientist eyes it warily, as Darcy's already clipping her own glock to her hip. Hill nods to her, "Agent Lewis." She motions Darcy off to the side, out of hearing of the scientists. "What do you think that might be?" She asks, in a teacherly tone.

"Ahum," Darcy blinks, brain running back through her training courses, "Hydra, Hydra...it's a distraction," Her eyes widen, "One that'll kill and scare lots of people sure, but, those lunatics mainly just wanted power and tech..." She glances to Jane, who's looking grim, yet determined at her computer screen. Hill nods once.

"They want what Dr. Foster's been building, no doubt," She leans forward, murmuring quietly, "You won't be alone, here. But it's meant to look like you are. We'll have people stationed below and above...but make them feel like nothing's amiss."

"...Gotcha." Darcy nods once...and then licks her lips, "...But tell me I'm not the last line of defense in the labs, Agent Hill, cause..."

"Not hardly," Hill snorts, but her smirk is -almost- warm, "But Foster and the others will be more at ease about our odds out there, if they think you're all we've left behind."

"...I'll choose to take that as a compliment, rather than an insult." It did grate on her a bit, though. And would possibly inform her later actions. Not that Darcy would admit it.

.

.

.

.

.

.

When people are assigned to stake out SHIELD Headquarters, Logan and Cap are the first to arm-wrestle their way onto the roster. Steve Rogers' immediate reaction to Logan's glare is to roll his eyes, sighing, "My -wife- is in there, Logan, she works in the commissary." Well, sue 'im, Logan knows how close he and Darcy are. And honestly? Both of them should probably be redirected elsewhere, for those very reasons, Wolverine's more rational brain muses. But things being as they are, neither Coulson nor Fury argue much.

Stationing himself out of sight around the bottom floor, with a slew of agents, Captain America taking the roof, Logan steadies himself. He's got friends tearing into Hydra goons at the moment, some of them hardly more than kids, but he can't think of that right now. He knows he can't really let himself think too hard on Darcy either, that he's supposed to keep baddies away from a portal to other worlds, and the weapons they might dream up out of it, and...well. Honestly? He couldn't give much of a shit about that, least not in the immediate future. Of course he cares in the long run. But in the moment, Logan's not defending research, when his claws finally come out with a snarl, and skewer a Hydra soldier up through the jaw. He's just keeping them away from his girl.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Hydra swarms through New York in an alarming, yet not insurmountable force. Not by the combined efforts of the Avengers, X-Men and Fantastic Four, at any rate. Those in the SHIELD labs watch the carnage from their windows or computers, while Darcy and the small handful of agents assigned to them stand watch by the thick blast doors. She's pretty sure someone as smart as Jane knows that what's going on outside is both a show of power and a distraction. She's not sure if they know that they're not alone, though. Her own com is mostly silent.

Which is why, when Darcy hears the breach happening above their steel-reinforced labs, she's not sure if their people secretly stationed above and below have noticed. Darcy knows what's directly above them, though. She knows that there's the skeleton of the portal generator that Jane, Bruce, Erik and Tony have all been building. She also knows that, whoever has been sent to keep headquarters covered, they might not know that particular fact, and might not make it priority.

And it might be exactly what Hydra is staging this attack for. But does she let her cohorts in on this? Of course not, because she's Agent Darcy Lewis, and they might not have time to explain it all.

"Right, got shit to do, come with me if you want to help," Darcy punches the fail safe, opening the thick metal blast doors and gingerly leaping out into the hall. A couple baby agents follow her. The two that don't, she motions to shut the doors behind her, over Jane Foster's loud protesting. Darcy hopes Jane gets the hint that she's just protecting Jane's baby, babbling into her com as she leads the shaking, slightly yellow agents behind her down the halls.

"Agent Lewis, what the-..." She finally hears over her com.

"Tell whoever you've got babysitting us, Coulson, that there's a breach on the 18th floor of headquarters, and I'm not leaving it to bleed!"

Silence. And then, "Lewis, you're not ready for this." He tells her, voice clipped and in Agent-mode, even as his diction is that of her trusted mentor. Darcy swallows hard, gripping her gun hard.

"To the mission, Phil," She replies grandly, making for the stairwell.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The sky above Manhattan is full of explosions and super-people, but they're winning. Some forces have already retreated, rolling back the way they'd come. There's a swarm around SHIELD headquarters though, and super-people are rushing back to address it. When they reach the 18th floor, however, there's already a smattering of Hydra bodies on the floor, and a Darcy Lewis who's sporting a few bullet holes.

"The thing to take away from this," She hisses, when Captain America plucks her up off the bloody floor. "Is that I stopped 'em before they stole the tech."

"You did," Coulson allows, his voice stony, even as he squeezes her shoulder, "Which earns you a rain check on the chewing out. That was terribly reckless, Agent Lewis."

"Reckless may very well be my middle name..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy admits it, her reckless streak will very likely get her into trouble one day...well, more trouble than it has to date, anyway. But even in her own head, she stubbornly maintains that there's a place and time for it, and SHIELD very often provides both. For all Coulson's exasperation and concern when they found her, once she's out of surgery and debriefed in the hospital, not a word of reprimand is spoken. Director Fury leaves her with simply a "Good job, Agent," before leaving her room.

He leaves her alone with Logan, though, who's looking far less enthused by her timely, and vaguely idiotic heroics. The man pushes off the wall, his uniform looking far worse for wear after the fight. There's blood drying, around tears where wounds had been an hour or two before. Logan's healed over, but the sight of his blood still makes Darcy swallow hard, reaching out for him as he nears her. She knows they're no doubt about to really get into it, but before they do, Darcy gets a good grip on his collar and pulls him in for a kiss. He growls low in his throat, returning it with a searing heat, hands in her hair because the rest of her is a stitched up mess.

"You're gonna kill me, darlin'," He rasps against her brow, and Darcy shakes her head, feeling the stubbornness bubble up in her even as she wants him to hug her close, "Why'd you pull somethin' so stupid..."

"Wasn't stupid," She maintains, biting her lip, "Agents have gotta take risks, same as everyone..."

"Those Hydra goons wouldn't have made it outta that building, you know that," He growls again, pulling back to look her in the eye, and Darcy frowns.

"I -don't- know that, though," She points out sharply, wincing as she pulls some stitches in her shoulder. She'd taken three bullets, two to the leg, one to her shoulder and one had grazed her ribs through her bodysuit. None of them were serious, but they weren't feeling too hot either. "They could've slipped out the way they'd come, past you guys, even just one guy getting through with the stats would..."

"So yell for backup!" The volume goes up, those eyes of his intense on her face, "Someone who 'aint green, you had your coms on..."

"Oh goddamnit, Logan," Darcy huffs, throwing up her hands and instantly regretting it, but determined not to let on now, the pain she was feeling. "I've been training like a beast, when are you gonna..."

"Trainin' don't make up for experience," He grunts, brushing a hand gently over the bandages on her ribs, and Darcy can't help biting her lip again, "You're riddled fulla holes, baby."

"Experience," She shoots back, lifting her chin again. Logan scrubs a hand over his face, huffing in frustration.

"Fuck, Darcy...just." He flexes his hands, pulling air through his nose, and she knows his feral side when she sees it. It's possessive and protective and hard to argue with. Because that part of him is all reaction and instinct, and deep in his blood, his bones, under the metal. It'll always win out, no matter how stubborn Darcy gets. She's determined to try this time, though. He -has- to understand her...then, of course, he goes on, "S'bad enough knowin' you're in the thick of things here, but if you also start tossin' yourself right in the line of fire..."

All right, so she kind of loves that about him. That ridiculous, snarling, over-protective Logan who's also kind of an idiot for her. But even so, "It's gonna happen anyway though, Logan," She tells him, quieter now, but her voice still firm, barely yielding. "Okay, so maybe I jump in too soon now, but eventually I'm gonna have worked my way up through the ranks, I'll be dodging bullets right next to Coulson and Sitwell..."

"...Y'don't have to," Logan murmurs, almost without thinking, and Darcy bristles, even as he winces at himself, "I just mean...y'go from one end to th'other darlin', from leaping in to the fight one day, to complainin' about your job, wantin' the road the next..."

"What I -want- is to be -doing- something!" She shoots back, maybe a little sharper than she'd meant. Because maybe he'd struck a nerve, there. But nope, Darcy wasn't gonna admit it, "Not sitting safe at a desk! Don't you...aren't you the one who -wanted- me to be able to handle myself?!"

"Yeah, so you WOULDN'T pull shit like this!" Logan growls, pacing to the wall and back, eying her sharply, "And...and maybe after today, I'm just..." He looks to her wrapped gunshot wounds, shaking his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, "...Yeah, maybe I do want you outta the thick of things. Guilty."

"Too bad," Darcy crosses her arms, even as she's inwardly cringing at how petulant and childish that sounded, "S'in my nature, and I totally saved the day. And you can hardly talk about recklessness, -Wolverine-." Logan eyes her up and down, in the bed, hooked up to an IV, and lets out a long sigh. He braces himself on the bar on her bed, shaking his head.

"My bullet holes closed up hours ago, baby, you know that," He says quietly, and Darcy tries not to acknowledge the frustrated, discontent feeling that tries to rise every time he reminds her of how human she is, and he isn't. She's spent the last five or so years, only letting herself get close to people who don't break easily. Being reminded that she herself isn't exactly titanium, well... "I could lose you in a heartbeat, t'somethin' tha'd barely slow me down..."

"I know," Darcy says, maybe a little too shortly, arms still crossed over her chest. Logan sighs, leaning over, kissing the top of her head.

"...We gotta head back to the school for our debrief," He murmurs. "...I'll be back, if y'want me around..." Darcy makes a non-committal noise at that. Rolling his eyes, Logan turns to go, "Love you, crazy girl."

"...Love you too," She mumbles just before the door closes behind him, twisting her necklace around in her fingers.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	5. Chapter 5

((Part of me kinda hates that Darcy's got so much downtime in this chapter and a little of the next, but then, it does its job of informing her further annoyance at being a squishy, non-supe who needs to -rest- to heal. At least you lot can trust me to never write her as -useless- or complacent in her squishiness ;D Also uh, sorry for the end of this one.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 5

.

.

.

.

.

.

As one might expect by now, Darcy doesn't do very well with sitting still. She's released to go home the next day, but told to stay off her feet, and has way too much time off from work than she's comfortable with. For the first few days she blisses out and passes the time floating on painkillers. It's a good thing Logan chooses this time to come back to the city, because sober she's still kind of annoyed with him. On the good drugs, however, she just snuggles up to him and enjoys the comforting scent of cigars and Old Spice in front of NCIS marathons.

He'd stay longer but she pushes him back, before the haze fully lifts and she says something she'll regret. Darcy just grins, loopy and off, telling him to go back to his students, she's got her cat and Jane looking in on her and he can call her. So he goes, brushing lips over her skin and murmuring to her about staying off her feet. Darcy's glad. Her stubborn, petulant side is slowly returning as her flesh knits, and he really was kind of being a prince at the moment. She'll be pouty later.

She barely lasts a week and a half at home, though. Jane comes by with food and movies and an amiable, chuckling god more than a few nights, but they're still not enough to keep her on her couch, letting her leg and shoulder heal. And so Darcy hefts a cane and shows up at SHIELD headquarters on monday, suit pressed and glasses polished, much to her boss' chagrin.

"Agent Lewis..." But she holds up a hand, before Phil can go much further.

"Choose your next words wisely, Coulson," She tells him, "You gave me my first assignment a year ago, from your -wheelchair-. Saline drip in tow." The man lifts his hands, palms out, in a gesture of acknowledgment.

"Point. However," He looks at her steadily, "I was well-aware of my limits, even as I was pushing them. You don't yet fully know your own, I don't think."

"I know they've got to be further out by now, at least," Darcy maintains, stubbornly. "...And if I'm wrong, there's a couch in the labs."

As it turns out, she is wrong, at least for the first few days. She's popping codeine and spending most of her time lying down, leg out, stack of files by her head as she bosses around the interns from the couch. Bruce, Jane and Tony might come out of their haze of busywork long enough to make sure her workload from them is lighter, and more than once Darcy wakes up from a pill-induced nap under one of Jane's ponchos or Bruce's blazers. But she's at work, and somehow that's a balm to Darcy's ragged nerves and wounded pride. She does stop answering Logan's phone calls once she's off the heavier drugs, though.

Darcy pointedly refrains from analyzing the avoidance response, because she knows very well that it's what she always does when someone gets a little too...truthy, about her vices. She also knows that eventually, she'll have to answer her phone and they'll talk again, and it will be uncomfortable and compromise-y. And hot and primal as he is, Logan is too old to be easily swayed away from tough conversations by cleavage. He'll go for the gold like a champ -after- the uncomfortable talking stuff, of course, but not before. She also knows he's aware of her petulant, teenage responses, and will totally wait her out. Because he knows her, and she knows him, and even at their worst they kind of need each other by now.

What Darcy doesn't count on is Marie.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Oh my god Sugar, why aren't you answerin' your damn phone?" Rogue's drawl startles her out of a nap, two weeks after the fight. Darcy twitches, jumps, swears, and then winces at her pulled muscles. The Southern Belle in a bright green, cropped jacket appears to have little sympathy for Darcy's equilibrium, drumming black nails on Darcy's desk. "Hey, it's your fault you're at work and not at home healin' up."

"Yeah yeah yeah," Darcy grumbles, sitting up slowly, gingerly, "And -this- is why, I get enough lectures here at work, in person. Don't need 'em over the phone."

"Good for you," Marie grumbles, though she's smirking now, handing Darcy her coat, "But I'm the one who's gotta put up with the most unpleasant, grumpy bastard ever back home. You know I still kinda feel it, in here, when he's right pissy?" She taps the side of her head, and Darcy has to crack a smile at that, "I start cravin' cigars, and that gawdawful beef jerky he eats like candy..."

"All right, all right, I'll talk to him...later," She takes her jacket, reluctantly.

"Yep!" Rogue tells her brightly, "Cause I'm takin' you home for now, makin' you dinner, puttin' you to bed..."

"Good," Bruce Banner smiles faintly as he passes, nodding to Darcy, "You still look worse than I do after a long day of being The Other Guy, Darcy. Go home and rest." Darcy sighs, giving him a long-suffering wave as he moves into one of the other labs. She doesn't miss the way Rogue's eyes follow his trajectory, either.

"...Hmmm, so that's what he looks like, when he aint green?" The purr in her voice is one Darcy knows well, and it makes her laugh.

"Ha! Oh god, Marie, if you go after Bruce...I don't even know, the implications of both your powers going off is kinda..." Darcy pauses, blinking, "...Hot, actually..."

"Oi, let's get with the gettin' you home, Sugar." Rogue rolls her eyes, wrapping an arm around her, "I'll bug you 'bout the cute rage monster later, when you aint on meds."

.

.

.

.

.

.

That night Darcy finds herself babied by her two best friends plus Thor, and vowing that she won't go into work for another few days. It's nice, she decides, to give in and return to her comfy, albeit ratty couch in Queens. Steve and Beth show up later with dinner (homemade and old-fashioned. Beth is a pistol in her own right but she's also kind of a throw-back. Chicken divan?! Who under 60 still made that?!), and it's movie night with superheroes and scientists and gods.

Darcy's well-fed and well-medicated when she gives Logan a half-loopy call. Beth's patting her feet, while Marie grills Jane (who's amused) and Steve (who's uncomfortable) for all the details they'll offer on Bruce. Darcy makes a mental note to ask her friend when her taste went from cocky scruffy bastards to mild-mannered, tweed-wearing secret rage monsters. Maybe it's a kind of detox. Whatever's going on, she lets herself be lulled by her own scruffy lout's voice, making promises to come see each other soon.

They don't talk about her reckless ways, though, much as she hears it waiting in his voice. It'll happen later. Right now she's just glad she sucked it up and called, because damnit, his voice is all she wants in the world right now.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Four days and a lot of improvement and Law & Order episodes later, Darcy gets called back into work for a meeting with Director Fury himself. Perplexed, but far less dependent on painkillers, she goes into work in her best suit, still half-expecting a reprimand for returning to work too early. What's actually happening, though, is nothing she'd have expected, at least not at this point in her relationship with SHIELD.

"Agent Lewis, we're looking to promote you." Fury tells her right off the bat, Coulson standing just over his shoulder with that faint, yet somehow still smug smile on his face. "You've shown singular drive and initiative and, while perhaps not -quite- field-ready, you've developed a certain...rapport, with allies of ours."

Darcy cocks a brow, tilting her head, "...Meaning the X-Men? I'm friends with some and uh, dating one, yeah, but I don't know if that qualifies me to work with Agent Meyers..."

"Meyers is retiring," Fury says, smirking faintly, "Agent Coulson thinks you'd make a good replacement, as SHIELD liaison to the X-Men." Darcy blinks, staring at the man over Fury's shoulder. Phil Coulson just shrugs, still with that unflappable smirk. "You've been a...sort of junior liaison to the Avengers, but we hardly need three. And judging by your performance here, you're well-suited to dealing with difficult personalities," Fury winces, faintly, "...Meyers wasn't... quite so skilled."

At that, Darcy can't help grinning a little, recalling all the times Logan had complained about the older, vaguely racist agent. "I ah, do have a knack with the self-involved superheroes and eccentric science bros, true...but," Here she bites her lip, thinking of her helpless, distracted babes in the labs, "...Our scientists are kind of incapable of functioning on their own. Hell they barely feed themselves when they're unsupervised, unless you count Tony's awful health shakes..."

"That was considered," Phil finally speaks up, dipping his head, "You've had an army of interns under you for almost a year now, though. Are there any you'd trust with your job?" He asks already knowing her answer, Darcy can tell. She gives him a nod, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment.

"A couple, yeah," She admits, "Locke and Hamilton, they've been with me from the start. Honestly those gals have been running the place without me a few times already. Now, for example," She smirks, and then takes a deep breath, nerves tingling, "...I'd like the job."

"It will involve more training, more being in the thick of things," Director Fury reminds her, watching her closely, "And I don't mean firefights, though you'll see plenty of those too. You'll be privy to things, Agent Lewis. Present at meetings, diplomatic and otherwise, and your security clearance will be going up. Way up."

"Meaning I'll have the social life of this one soon, check," She nods to Phil, who narrows his eyes just slightly, "Even my home life is pretty much just superheroes, super geniuses, and one wayward mother these days, so, I can handle that..."

"We'll see," Fury cracks a smile, which comes off as a bit more menacing than perhaps he meant. Or maybe Darcy's just that nervous, even as there's something excited and vindicated growing in her chest. She was going to be doing more, a lot more. And they'd noticed and rewarded her drive. "For now, finish getting better. We'll need you in peak condition. Dismissed."

.

.

"You are all over this," Darcy murmurs to Coulson, as they leave the Director's office. Her former handler just gives her a wide smile, shaking his head.

"Half of it." He concedes, "Your attachment to Wolverine had already put the thought in the Director's head. I simply supported the notion, strongly."

"...You really think I'm cut out for what you do?" She asks, her voice sounding a bit too young even in her own ears. Phil tilts his head.

"No, not yet," He shrugs, "Which is why we're tossing you to the mutants first."

Darcy gapes for a full five seconds, before realizing that Phil Coulson had just made a joke.

A week more, and Darcy's riding up to Westchester in Rogue's car, windows up against the full-on stormy autumn chill. She'd put her bike away for now because between the weather and her recovery, even she has to admit it's not safe. Spring seems way too far away. But anticipation has her toes curling, her bottom lip worried under her teeth. Despite herself, her stubborn ways, she's missed Logan so bad it's an almost physical pain, that the few pills she's still taking can't touch. And yeah, maybe the fact that she's been promoted makes her a little more forgiving of his over-protectiveness. He can't exactly tell her to stay out of the fray anymore.

.

.

.

.

.

.

He lasts about five minutes of hellos, between Darcy, Jubes and Marie, before Logan's picking up his diminutive girlfriend and carrying her off. She laughs, pressing her face to his neck, all that soft skin against his scruff. But he's got other things on his mind, besides sexin' her up good...although that's definitely on the list. It just isn't the first thing on the list. He stills her hands in the doorframe to his rooms, kissing her slowly.

"Y'got promoted," Logan murmurs as he pulls back, and she grins, nodding, tossing all that long brown hair out of her eyes. She looks a lot better, the color in her cheeks back to normal and her eyes bright and present.

"Yes I did," She says, dropping her duffle bag in its usual spot by his dresser. He doesn't have much in there, she'll have filled it with her things by morning. The scent lingers long after she goes, too, at least for him. But it's almost gone now. Logan will be glad to have it lingering in here again. "You gonna tell me not to take it?" She asks it lightly, as if she doesn't care either way. But he catches the way her eyes flicker over his face, her pulse jumping slightly. And he already knows her too well anyway.

"...Nope," He says slowly, moving toward her again, hands in his pockets now, regarding her for a bit. Darcy looks back at him, chin up, a wry little smirk playing with the edges of her full lips, "...I get the feelin' what you've been through has maybe...gotten some things through that thick head of yours." He grins, and watches her try to glare back and not quite manage it, lips still twitching.

"...Okay yeah," Darcy sighs, flopping onto the bed, "...It wasn't 'til I tried to go back to work early. Finally had to admit it, when Rogue came around that yeah, I'm not just gonna be all right after a few stitches and pills." She grumbles to the ceiling, and then after a space, turns her head to give him a softer look, "...I'm not gonna stop. You'll never keep me out of the fight, big guy. But...I can promise you I'll be more careful." He notes the way her nerves go up at that, a light perspiration. Talking about the harder things usually does that to her.

Logan shrugs, bending down and pushing a hand roughly through her hair, and the little gasp she makes over the light tug on her scalp makes him swallow, hard. It's been way too long. "I am actually proud of you, darlin'," He tells her in a murmur, against her throat, "Don't want you to think I aint. S'a big deal, and this way," He grins, wide and feral against her skin, feeling the chuckle moving through her already, "I can keep an eye on you."

"Not overly-possessive or unhealthy at -all-, that, nope," Darcy breathes, arching up as her pushes off her raggedy sweater, mouth on her tits, his fingers lightly tracing the scars on her shoulder. Her hands slide into his hair, and Logan can't help the low growl in his throat, hearing her smile widen as she goes on, "...I love you, you know..." She gulps, as he pauses, lips lingering over her heart, "I know I'm a huge brat, but..."

"And I love you, even if I'm an ass to you sometimes," Logan grins, moving up to catch her lips again, hard and fiery, the feel of her writhing under him almost doing him in. Darcy grins against his mouth, fingers sliding down his chest, catching his fly.

"An ass I get to boss around a bit, too." She adds, as he gasps into her mouth. And for the next little while, it's as if nothing's happened between them. He clutches at her, loses himself in her, and then gives her the eye over dinner as she laughs with the girls. They make love again before bed, hard and fast this time, until he's got her shouting his name to the ceiling and fuck all if someone hears. When she drifts off in his arms, pressed close to his side, still murmuring nonsense, Logan's pretty sure that they'll be just fine. He falls asleep without trouble for the first time in weeks.

His dreams aren't as easy, though, still lingering in that old, fragmented bad place they'd been in since he left New York. He's had nightmares with her there before. However, tonight is like it used to be with his night terrors, and he wakes up to Darcy screaming, his eyes flying open to find his claws out, pinning her through both arms to the bed, her blood staining the sheets a bright, cruel red.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	6. Chapter 6

((My apologies, this is a really sad-faced chapter :| But, try and spot my nod to Stan and his often-lawlsy method of character-naming!))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 6

.

.

.

.

.

.

The action that follows is a blur. Logan recalls waking. He recalls seeing his girlfriend bleeding all over his sheets. He sees the slashes across her chest and face, from where he'd first lashed out in his sleep, and the wounds in her arms, where he'd skewered her to the bed. He recalls shouting, calling for help, figures moving through his periphery, sweeping a pale, bleeding Darcy up in their arms and away from his shaking, blood-stained hands.

Logan remembers so much and so little. He remembers throwing his fists into the walls and bellowing curses at himself until his own blood was mixing with hers on his fingers. He remembers Charles in his head trying to calm him down, Marie approaching him without a trace of fear in her eyes and tugging him down toward the infirmary. He doesn't remember how he was able to school his heartbeat back down to normal, or how he was able to silence those snarling voices in his head, telling him what a monster he was, in time to stand outside the operating room as Jean and her team stitched Darcy back up.

He's afraid of the calm taking over him, actually, even as he stands stock-still in front of the glass, eyes fixed at her still form on the table. Jubes has both arms clasped around his waist like a vice, and Marie keeps saying the same things over and over. Not his fault, that Darcy knew this was a risk too, on and on. The Professor is silent in his mind now though, as if sensing where Logan's thoughts are headed. He's glad someone does, because at the moment, Logan's head feels like a vast graveyard.

.

.

.

.

.

.

He'd been tossing and turning again, which wasn't unusual. What was unusual was the muttering, the faintly helpless edge to his voice that sounded so very alien, so out of place, and thus frightening to Darcy. She had sat up, leaning over him and touching his face lightly when the claws of his right hand had shot out, sweeping out at her in the dark. He'd caught her across her jaw and chest, pinning her to the bed with blinding pain through her arms, before waking up. His expression of horrified realization flashed over his face, just as she passed out.

She wakes up slowly, the world sharper than she'd expect. She finds out later that it's because a telepath had kept her under, not drugs. Darcy distantly notes that a whole lot of the world's problems could be fixed thusly.

"His center blades went clean through muscle and sinew," Jean Grey tells her gently, hooking up her morphine drip as consciousness returns fully, "Your arms will be fine, less recovery time than the gunshot wounds, honestly. A little physical therapy... Your...face, though..." The older woman hesitates. Darcy winces, pressing her eyes shut hard and feeling the painful pull of her facial muscles, before replying.

"Get me a mirror, please,"

It isn't so bad. At least, not as bad as Darcy had feared. Logan had caught her across her bottom lip and chin, splitting both open. The scars on her chest are much more shallow. Her lip and jaw are stitched up smartly, but, well, shell be eating through a straw for a week, and the scars will be there forever. Awesome. She's almost ashamed of the pang she feels. Darcy had always been told her lips were one of her best features. At least deep lip-scars were badass, in a post-apocalyptic, video-game sort of way...

"Is he here?"

Jean gives her a tight smile, but nods, squeezing her hand before she goes. Darcy feels the aching setting in, even as the painkillers start to work, but she forces herself to remain focused. This...this was going to change things. Her boyfriend had long feared something like this happening, and it had, and while she might stubbornly want to tell herself that it didn't change anything for -her-, she couldn't get the images out of her head. Not now that she was awake. That animalistic anger and rage in his eyes, seeing someone else as he lashed out at her.

Darcy had seen Logan fight. It had both scared and excited her in the past, and she'd been glad that she'd never be on the end of that kind of power, that primal rage. She had been the night before, though. Logan had seen someone, something else, looking at her in that moment. She'd seen it all over his face when he first struck her, that he'd not stop until she was shreds on the floor. Who'd he seen? Who'd he dreamed of? As she shivers over the thought, Darcy also braces herself. It wasn't her he'd tried to hurt, she tells herself over and over. It wasn't her...

When he slips into the infirmary the smile she gives him comes easy and relieved, because he's all the Logan she knows again, nothing of that angry, tortured animal about him. In fact...Darcy swallows, hard, looking him in the face. In fact he looks downright stony now, eying her steadily, as if willing the truth of how she sees him up to the surface. She shuts her eyes, shaking her head and reaching out to him. She hears him move toward her slowly, until he's in range of her hands. Darcy grips his belt-loops hard, tugging him forward, a mirror of how she'd held onto him when they'd first met.

"Hey big guy," She murmurs, opening her eyes again. His eyes are fixed on her lips, pained, his expression cracking, "Hey, hey, none...none of this is your fault, I hope to fuck you know that..."

"I know," He tells her, but the sound is hollow. Darcy tries and fails at biting her lip, wincing when she does and knowing she's not helping her cause any further. Logan grabs a napkin from her bedside table, dabbing at the bleeding stitches, and she gulps.

"I mean it. Maybe, maybe it was too soon to sleep in the same bed again, but," She feels the drugs tugging her under, but she smiles, clutching his hand hard, "It was just a thing, Wolvie...just..."

"Have you seen yourself?" He finally asks in a rough voice, and Darcy shuts her eyes, nodding her head again.

"We knew it was a risk," She murmurs, feeling his hand and its rough fingers brushing along her hairline, her cheek, and leaning into the warmth, "We just got comfortable..." She trails off, her pain slipping away. She wishes it wasn't taking her under, wishes she could call out that guarded look that's locking into place on his face. But she can't, she's falling asleep again, and she knows without knowing, what's coming next as his lips brush over her brow.

"Yeah, yeah that's all it was, baby," He murmurs, voice cracking, "Rest up now..."

"Logan, please don't go..." She forces out, in a drugged mumble.

"Not goin' anywhere just now..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

He's gone, by the second time Darcy wakes up.

She knows something serious has happened, when she wakes up with Rogue curled up next to her on the infirmary bed, and Professor Xavier himself waiting at her bedside. Darcy hiccups on a breath before she even speaks, Marie's arm tightening around her. "Miss Lewis," Charles says gently, "Logan left the mansion yesterday afternoon. I...I do not think..."

"He's gone runnin'," Darcy whispers back, not needing to hear the rest, even though she does. She hears about how he's left for JFK, how the post-it he'd left on Xavier's desk hadn't told where he was headed. She holds up a hand, not wanting to hear more, even as she feels the distinct swelling, cracking, and bleeding of her heart in her chest.

She's mad and she wants to cry and she understands, all in one moment. How the fuck does that happen?! She wonders over and over as she curls up into Marie's embrace, crying. Even when she knows the answer. It happens because they know each other, love each other. She understands, even if she's broken-hearted, because it's what she'd do in his place.

She has to believe he'll come back, too. It's a belief that takes a few months to shake.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Bruce, shows up to bring her home, much to Darcy's surprise. Because while an MD isn't his preferred title, he's been her under-the-counter "tell-me-I'm-not-sick-enough-to-take-leave" doctor for a year now. Also, yes, maybe he is responding to the not-so-subtle hints her girlfriend has been dropping. Darcy doesn't much mind that he's giving Marie the eye even as he helps her into the SHIELD-issue SUV, because it's just nice to know she's got people caring about her. At the last minute, Rogue throws together a duffle and hops in with her, grinning.

"You need someone takin' care of you full time, Sugar, and they barely need me 'round here when the world ain't ending." Darcy side-eyes her, smirking for the first time in a while. Maybe that's her best friend's aim. Well, that and Hulk-booty.

"You're truly a saint, Rogue," Darcy quips, just before the sadness grips her chest again. And then she's tilting sideways, hiccuping and drawn into Marie's embrace. "...And goddamnit, my face needs to stop hurting. Like, yesterday," She gasps.

.

.

.

.

.

.

When she returns to New York, it's to find that all her belongings from Queens have been moved into much bigger, sleek living quarters in Manhattan, courtesy of SHIELD and her new job description. There's a couple of messages in her voicemail, one from freshly-minted Agent Lucy Locke, who's now officially taken over her job in the labs, and one from Fury himself, telling her that her leave has been extended by two weeks and that she might like to fill this time acquainting herself with personnel files.

Another employee might give their boss the finger, long distance, at walking into their new, modern apartment in fucking -Manhattan- and spotting a stack of files on their shiny new dining room table. Not Darcy Lewis, though. She happily gathers up the files in her arms, leaving them by her incongruously shabby couch as she goes to change into sweats and dab iodine onto her stitches. Marie gives whistle over the roomy guest bedroom.

Arkham the cat curls around Darcy's legs happily, meowing for attention, and it isn't that difficult of a transition, not at first. It's when ten rolls around, and it's time for Darcy to take her antibiotics and painkillers that she twitches, crumpling a little in the big flannel shirt she'd swiped from Logan's room before leaving. Her cell phone remains silent but for messages from Jane and Steve, asking her how she is. She's sent a few Logan's way, but he seems to already be way out of range, if he even turned his phone on or took it with him.

"This is straight balls, Arkham," Darcy sniffs, returning to her stack. He can do as he wants, she knows how it works. But...after what's happened...well. She's afraid of it being more than just hiding, beating himself up. Every time she catches sight of herself in the mirror, she imagines what he must've seen. And she can't stop herself from remembering what she'd seen in his eyes, in his frame, when he'd attacked her. She's still a little afraid of him, even as she wants him there.

She'd have run too, she keeps reminding herself. She'd have run far and fast while still hoping with some selfish, woefully optimistic part of herself that he'd wait for her to come back. 'Or go after him', some part inside whispers. But no, Darcy shakes her head. She's in no condition or place to go after him. She's done that once before. This time, she'll give him his space, even if it rips her apart inside, not to have him near her.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Oh my god," Jane gasps, before she can stop herself. Darcy shakes her head, popping a tight grin as she waves her friend into her apartment. Marie has been scattering Darcy's things around the sterile, modern place, and she's actually kind of proud of how her living space looks for the first time in, well, ever, "I'm sorry, I just wasn't..."

"Expecting Sally the Ragdoll? I know," Darcy tries to be flippant, and fails horribly she knows, the cracks in her bravado showing. Seriously, a girl could only pretend so much. It was her face, damnit, her saving grace through every awkward period leading up to ladyhood. "It's all good."

"If you say so," Jane murmurs, setting her (see: Thor's) pot of chili on the stove and wrapping Darcy up in a tight, warm hug. "I know things suck right now..."

"They really don't." Darcy gulps, even as she hugs her former boss back just as tightly, "My job is bangin' and I'm healing like a pro and I've got physical therapy tomorrow, life is -awesome-..."

"Darcy..."

"...Okay, life is a moody, tricky bitch," Darcy sighs, "Happy? Good, let's drink."

God bless wine and cuddly friends she thinks, a few hours and a couple Seth Rogan movies later. Of course, they don't fix everything, as the next few weeks choose to prove explicitly.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	7. Chapter 7

((I really don't mean for so many of these chapters to be cliffhanger-y, but, well, it keeps happening. I enjoyed this one mightily.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 7

.

.

.

.

.

.

That first week is easy. Darcy lays on the couch and buries herself in work and directing Rogue where to put her stuff. She doesn't have enough to fill the new place, really, at least not enough to make it into the cozy sort of haphazard nest she's used to. So busying her head with all the furniture and knick-knackery she can raid consignment and vintage shops for is a good distraction as well. A few days in and she's sorting her belongings herself, carefully lifting books as her muscles knit and her arms start working properly.

She tries not to look in the mirror too often, at first. Just like she tries not to compulsively check her phone every ten minutes, convinced she's felt it vibrate, disappointed when it has and it's only Jane.

Darcy's actually proud of herself, that she doesn't get mind-numbingly restless until her leave is almost up. It isn't the days that are wearing on her this time, not really. During the day she's got work and her best friend staying with her, helping her get settled and writing carefully edited emails to Darcy's mother and making fun of Twilight movies together. It's the nights that are bad, between missing her big ol' mutant boyfriend until she falls asleep, and then reliving the moment he'd nearly killed her when she does.

She's pretty sure there's someone on the SHIELD payroll she can talk to about all this. Until then, she forces herself to take Tylenol PM before bed.

"You done with the good stuff?" Marie arches a brow, as Darcy exchanges her codeine for regular old drug store painkillers on her first morning before work.

"Yeah, I kinda like the dull throb," Darcy smirks, buttoning up her vintage suit jacket and carefully putting up her hair, wincing a little as she raises her arms, "Keeps me alert, instead of floating like a druggie. I did enough of that last month..."

"Sugar, you ain't growin' up on me?" The mutant tilts her head, sliding a plate of waffles over. Darcy smirks, carefully.

"Naaah, just...want something to go right at the moment, and it might as well be work," She pauses around a mouthful, "...The heavy stuff hasn't been helping with the nightmares either, weirdly enough. If anything it makes them worse." Marie squints.

"Yeah? S'weird, I figured they'd blissfully knock you the hell out."

"They did last month, not so much now," Darcy shakes her head, "But anyway, like I said, I wanna be present and functional, even if today is a cushy one," She smiles again, eying her friend, "...You gonna tail me, make sure I clean my stitches...stalk the scholarly Avenger I'm friends with...?"

"Y'make me sound like I'm twelve," Rogue scoffs, but it's with a wink.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy has a moment, while standing in her new, mostly bare but still nice little office with a view at SHIELD headquarters. She sets her box of stuff on her new, sleek black desk and takes a seat in the comfy chair, swiveling a few times. The never-used Stark Industries computer just about makes her drool and Darcy gleefully boots it up, tilts the screen just so, and turns in place once. She's proud of herself, and grateful, no doubt. She's alive, she's proven herself to The Man, and she's skyrocketed up, and all around her is the proof.

There's something small and aching though, still, and it isn't until she transplants her faithful potted cactus who's come with her all the way from New Mexico out of the box and onto her new desk, that it bubbles up in her throat. A choked sound leaves her mouth, and Darcy sits down hard in her squishy new chair. It's all great, it really is. And corner office or not, she knows this job will be anything but dull. The gun on her belt is testament.

Even so, the four walls and the smell of new carpet has her aching for the back of Logan's bike. For the shitty springs in motel beds, the smell of leather and old spice and old coffee. It has her picturing the way mountains look flying past, diners in the middle of nowhere with woodsmoke barbeques out back, and the vast frozen whiteness of the Chukchi Sea in early spring. Her fingers go to her throat, wrapping around the small glass pendant there and holding on tight, willing herself not to choke up.

"Dammit, Logan, I need you..." She whispers into the void.

But then, because she's Agent Darcy Fucking Lewis, she counts to ten, takes a deep breath, and dives back into making her new office look like an actual, breathing human works in it.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Come down to the caf for lunch," Marie breezes in just as Darcy pulls out her sandwich wrap at noon, a far more reserved Phil Coulson trailing behind. Darcy had been about to curse her out but, well, Coulson. She sighs, rising, protesting even as her boss surprises her mightily with a swift embrace.

"I never eat in the caf," Darcy states firmly, keeping her voice even as she grips good ol' Phil maybe a little too hard. The man was more than a boss to her, she knew. Darcy'd had plenty of friends and plenty of authority figures in her life, but not very many people who really believed in her, gunned for her, saw past her snark to the hard worker underneath and believed she could be more. And she really needed her Jedi Master right about now.

"You're eating in the caf today," Phil smirks, pulling back, "On the insistence of the god of thunder and a national treasure."

"Well, when you drop names on me like that, Son of Coul..."

It turns out there's a little party waiting, and Darcy almost busts out with a string of swears to do her ol' gramps proud when she nearly chokes up yet again. "Goddamnit, why is everything hitting me in the feels today?" She protests, flopping down next to Thor. All her former underlings from the labs are at the table as well, along with Jane, Erik, Bruce and Steve.

"Tony's on mission with Clint and Natasha," Captain America informs her, as she digs into one of Thor's cupcakes. Steve smirks, "Tasha wanted you to know how lucky you are that she's missing your physical therapy."

"She'd probably leave me John McCain'd," Darcy cracks, grinning as Rogue leans a little too close to the good doctor. Steve nudges her again.

"When do the stitches...?" He motions to his own face, and Darcy shrugs.

"Couple more weeks," She murmurs, "I dunno though, man, scars like this, I may have to become a super villain."

"Nonsense," Coulson notes mildly, "The Director is far more disfigured than yourself, -and- he wears only black. I think we've successfully moved past stereotypes, as a super-human society."

"Praise Odin," Darcy smiles again, embracing the contented feeling budding in her ribcage, however long it may or may not last. It's a small thing, but it's nice.

.

.

.

.

.

.

It's become a cliché, Logan thinks, because it is so terribly, unfairly true. Take Superman, he muses silently to his warm sake, as the wind blows snow thick and white outside the bar windows. No matter what the damn man does, it's Lois the bad guys go after in the comics and movies. And Batman? Hell, man just finally gives up altogether and remains a sexless miser in an empty castle, fighting crime with the random orphan here and there.

'Until the recent movie,' He almost hears Darcy's voice in his ear, and it puts the ghost of a smile on his lips, just for a moment. She remembers all those nerdy details. Frankly, he'd just fallen asleep halfway through the movie. Fuck that over-groomed pretty-boy Christian Bale anyway.

The bar is getting quieter as the night goes on. The locals are harder, working class here, getting their drinks in before another day of trudging through the Northern Japan cold. She'd like it here, Logan thinks. She liked the cold, being bundled in coats and big sweaters, or wrapped around him on a cold night. A blurry feeling settling in his limbs, he sets his cup down and turns his hand over, staring at his knuckles with a frown. She was much safer where she was, though.

That was the part about this that wasn't the same old, inevitable thing from the stories. The gal was usually the one the supe cut free, as if the world outside were safer, as if she wouldn't still be hunted. That was the usual rule, anyway. Logan wasn't much for rules. She could take care of herself sure, and was surrounded by mutants and super-soldiers most anywhere she went. Nah, the only thing Darcy needed protection from was him. A lot of people did, and he doesn't think this in any brooding, self-pitying way. It's with a grim resignation and a sharp twist of guilt, well practiced and familiar. He wasn't made for civilization, he tells himself.

Still.

Logan misses her at night like an ache just under the skin. She loved his every rough edge, poking at them until he was growling, crushing her in an embrace, her laugh filling his ears. A few people had told her when they first got together that she was playing with fire, when Logan knew he was actually being played like a fiddle. And he loved it. Loved her. Still loves her and misses having her near, bringing an exuberance to his travels and his otherwise maudlin, lonely, and often violent life. His Darcy, beautiful and stubborn and bright.

And she's too young to waste her life on him. A life he's almost ended. Jubilee, Kitty, the kids were different...but even as Logan thinks that, he recalls that he'd almost killed Jubes too, a year ago. And he'd run then as well, the girl who brought him back becoming the best part of his life. Now...it's too much, he grunts, motioning for another drink. He'd shut down the stubborn old voices telling him not to stay, not to make roots in Westchester, so many times before Darcy ever came into his life. Logan's pretty sure he can hear those voices now, giving him a resounding 'I told ya so, dickhead'.

Maybe the threads will tug him back. As it is, Darcy Lewis has a line to his chest that it's taking everything in him not to grab and follow back. But all he has to do is picture her face that night, her fear, the blood...

Nope, he can't go back. He can toss back some more drinks, though.

.

.

.

.

.

.

After a couple more weeks and another firefight, during which she did not sustain a single injury, thankyouverymuch, Darcy's heading back up to Westchester for the first time in an official, professional capacity. Leaving Marie behind in New York (somebody had finally scored that first date for tonight. Darcy swallowed the ache in her throat and left her to it), it feels odd taking this ride alone in a suit and kitten heels. Darcy adjusts her collar, fidgets with her skirt, reminding herself harshly that Logan won't be there anyway, expecting her in t-shirts and jeans or old dresses from the 90s. She better get used to the feeling and to being professional about it, because this is her goddamn job.

Her inside voice can kind of be a hardass bitch sometimes.

"Agent Lewis," Professor Xavier greets her formally, yet with plenty of warmth when she arrives in his office, "How good to see you looking so well." Darcy smirks without much pain in her face. He's a sweet man, really, but she knows a good eyeshadow job can only distract from so much.

"And you, Professor," She clears her throat, slipping into this role easily, clear and professional as they get right into the most recent Hydra attack. "We were taken almost completely by surprise, which as you can imagine..."

"Is unusual for SHIELD, even with so small a force trying to infiltrate your headquarters," The man steeples his fingers, and they launch into talks about the possibility of certain...far-seeing students perhaps doing their studies in the city. While Xavier seems keen on the idea of the Avengers and X-Men doing more together, SHIELD's involvement is, understandably, a point he is hesitant on. Darcy makes her case well, only needing to text Coulson once during the exchange.

When things move on to the tech in the Danger Room, however, The Professor is more than willing to share, "It is life-saving training equipment," He smiles, "Send Tony Stark or Dr. Banner if you like, Hank enjoys their brain-storming sessions, he can tell your people far more about how the nuts and bolts work down there than I."

"Excellent, thank you sir," Darcy rises, smiling, her form relaxing somewhat. Xavier regards her for a moment, in that half-fatherly, half-unnerving-school-principle way of his. He isn't in her head, but he might as well be.

"How have you been, Miss. Lewis?" He asks quietly. After a pause, Darcy shrugs.

"Life's ah...life's great, good, just kind of.." She swallows, "Missing a big piece."

"I understand," The Professor says gently, leaving it at that, "Will you be staying for dinner? I know that Miss. Lee especially would love to see you." Darcy's smile widens then.

"I can do that! I need to stay a little longer anyway," She takes a deep breath, "Got a date with Dr. Gray to get some stitches taken out..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

"You're healing wonderfully," Jean assures her, cleaning up after snipping things out of Darcy's flesh. Darcy grins, touching her numbed chin lightly, "Now that these are out you can try neosporin, or some vitamin E oil, I promise they'll help diminish the scars. Not perfectly, but..." Jean turns, smiling, "This is the perfect time to use them, when your skin is still knitting."

"Will do," Darcy nods, flexing her arms. It was getting easier and easier to move them, the muscles and sinew knitting together and being worked regularly. Honestly, but for the roughness to her face, she was starting to feel like her old self. "I remember vitamin E oil, mom used it on me after I got chicken pox."

"Magical stuff, when you're not a mutant," The doctor nods, "Now I'm gonna check on your blood work, I don't see any signs of infection anywhere but it's always best to be thorough, hang tight." Darcy gives her a salute, and the woman leaves the room with a sway of her hips, her long red ponytail bobbing behind her. Darcy still gets pangs in Jean Gray's presence sometimes, kind and very happily married as she is. Some stupid part of Darcy can't help but wonder, right now, if Logan had gotten Jean when he wanted her, if he'd have run off on her too...

"Bad train of thought Lewis, just bad," She scolds herself, huffing and reaching for her phone as she waits. "Sad thoughts bad, Fruit Ninja good," She mumbles, swinging her feet back and forth as she attempts to break her own high score. Besides, Darcy knew Logan better than that. Claws go through the woman he loves, that's pretty much a guaranteed 'flee for their safety and general well-being'.

It was a real burden sometimes, knowing someone inside and out.

After a while Jean returns, looking thoughtful. Darcy zeroes in on the change from brisk, yet kind professional, watching the doctor's face. It's not a bad expression, or a grim one. Just...horribly thoughtful. Darcy hurriedly turns off her game, "Well, the good news is I don't see any trace of infection, you've taken good care of yourself..."

"...Bad news?" Darcy prompts, and Jean smirks.

"Bad news is, still no active mutant gene?"

"Oh, darn. Anything else?"

"News that could potentially go either way...?" Jean floats the test results over to Darcy with a flick of her brain waves, and Darcy plucks the paper out of the air, frowning as she reads. And then lets out a string of curses over the one positive result at the very end of the list.

"Oh holy fucking cocksucking hell, I am going to -kill- him."

"...So, no congratulations in order, then?"

"...I'm thinking." Darcy groans, scrubbing a palm over her face.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	8. Chapter 8

((NOTES OMG. A reviewer spotted something I had been hoping someone would notice, how Steve hasn't piped up about what (relatively little) he knows about James Howlett from the war. I actually hadn't remembered it myself until the final chapter of SYYTM, that Logan was still James back then in the comics, and decided that polite young Mr. Rogers has been keeping this bit of knowledge to himself because...well, tha'd be giving away a whole scene! Remember, I'm mashing comic details into a movie-verse-based tale, which is...challenging. Honestly the only things Fox gets right about X-Men is casting :P

ALSO, please to be more UP fics wherein -every- option is valid. Cause speaking from experience, the oft-treated as most loathsome option is usually the -first- one entertained.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 8

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy tries and fails to sneak out of the mansion, waylaid by a bouncing ball of pink and yellow teenage energy in the vestibule as she's shrugging on her coat. "Oi, Darcy-face!" Jubilee calls after her, and Darcy winces, sighing, turning, "Thought you were stayin' for dinner! Not bailin' on me are ya?" The sixteen year old is only half-kidding, behind that big grin and wry brow there's some hurt in those large eyes. Oh Logan...

"Nah," She manages a smile, "Just uh, not feeling as good as I was earlier in the day, best if I get on the road now, yanno?"

"Can I come too?" The teenager presses on before Darcy can point out the obvious, "It's friday afternoon, I don't have any classes 'til tuesday and I can totally take the train back, pleeeease?"

"You've thought this through," Darcy smirks. And who knows how long Marie's going to be off with Bruce, she didn't exactly do dates halfway with the guys she really, really liked these days. Even if there were some very obvious complications involved. And Darcy had to admit, tonight was a not a night she wanted to be alone, even if her company was still in 11th grade. "Yeah all right, but tell someone first!"

"Already cleared it with Miss Ororo," Jubilee grins, grabbing a backpack from the entryway. Darcy rolls her eyes.

"You and Rogue, I swear to Thor..."

"We're a clingy bunch'a misfits who cling, guilty," Jubilee bounces into the passenger seat, for all her wry, immature humor watching Darcy like a hawk as she slowly gets behind the wheel, taking care with every movement as if its a mighty struggle, "...Seriously though Miss Thing...I mean, I know things suck, but you look like someone just told you..."

"That I'm pregnant?" Darcy finishes without thinking, and then groans, her forehead hitting the wheel, hard. There's a long silence next to her, and then both of the girl's hands are wrapping around Darcy's, tight.

"...I'm gonna be a big sister?" Jubes is smiling, hopefully, and Darcy can't help smirking back, wiping her eyes.

"...Maybe, Jubes. Maybe."

.

.

.

.

.

.

So maybe a highschooler isn't exactly a fount of wisdom in Darcy's time of need, but Jubilee certainly is a distraction. The lively chatter on the ride home politely skirts Darcy's current distress, at least until they're in the city. They pick up ice cream and other sundry junk food before returning to Darcy's apartment, the younger girl exclaiming appropriately over the nice digs. "Aw shit, you -totally- have room for a kid..." Is her first comment, and Darcy sighs, shaking her head, noting Rogue's continued absence. It's only eight, though.

"-If- I decide to have it," She maintains, putting away the ice cream, "Which...I can't even..."

"I know, I know," Suddenly, Jubilee is subdued, biting her lip and watching Darcy from across the kitchen, "S'just...it'd make him so happy..."

"Or he'd stay away forever, more likely." Darcy murmurs, resting her forehead against the cool fridge, "He left cause he thinks he's only ever gonna hurt me, Jubes. I can't imagine that finding out he's got a kid on the way, will ease that fear."

A kid. Jesus Archibald Christ.

Darcy could barely keep Arkham alive, who was presently pawing at her feet for dinner. She rouses herself, moving to fill the cat's bowl as Jubes turns on the new stereo. Of course, Into The Mystic starts playing. Because all the gods hate her.

"I wouldn't be too sure," Jubilee tells her, softly, "Who knows, it could put the fire under his ass that he needs..."

"I'm a SHIELD agent." Darcy reminds her, scruffing her cat behind the ears and rising, tugging off her suit jacket, "I JUST got promoted, I work in a hotbed of experiments and weaponry, and I'm in the line of fire..."

"You're liaison to the X-Men," Jubilee nods, "Which -can- be dangerous, but doesn't necessarily -have- to be dangerous." Darcy's eyes narrow at the girl, as she heads to her bedroom to change out of her suit.

"When the hell did you get so smart?"

"Eh, I go to a private school," She adjusts imaginary glasses, "You've probably never heard of it, it's pretty obscure." Darcy snorts.

"Hipster mutant, excellent, just what I need in my life right now..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Honestly, it hasn't really sunk in, not yet. Darcy's hands keep absently moving between her scarred face and her as-yet-unchanged middle, something foreign in both spots drawing her unconscious attention. She's not even sure where her head is at yet, not even close. Mind, she's never had hangups about the right to choose and all, she's just, well, never had to choose. She's always been a robot when it came to her birth control and Logan didn't exactly carry disease very well, she she'd never bothered to worry (perhaps kind of a dumb thing). Darcy appreciates the weight of said choice though, does she fuckin' ever. It's so weighty she can't really bring herself to think about it seriously yet.

Though maybe it says something that she passes over the beer she'd been looking forward to for most of the day, in favor of chocolate milk. Best not to make any rash decisions before she makes a final one, Darcy figures. Though if she really were honest, there's already a warmth curling up inside of her as the evening goes on, junk food eaten and stupid movies watched. He was with her, in a way...

...But ugh, who said that was a healthy way to be seeing a zygote who could potentially ruin everything? And it didn't change that she was, for all intents and purposes, single now, and working in a dangerous job...

Her phone lights up at around 11pm, Jubes already drifting off at her laptop. Steve's texting her, which is odd for so late on a night with nothing planned. He's asking if he can drop by, and call it her fault for only thinking of herself and her need for stable, adult conversation that Darcy sends him an emphatic yes, please, I have snacks. She helps Jubilee shuffle off to pass out on Marie's bed (it's a safe bet, after a single text reading 'SCORE!', that her bff will not be home tonight), and tidies up the living room a bit. It's weird, but it feels wrong to have a messy house when Steve Rogers comes over. He's like the close friend who might secretly be the grandpa police.

When he shows up, though, Cap is a little wobbly, with a big glass jug of hooch that Darcy recognizes immediately as being one of Thor's, from Asgard. "I brought my own beer," He feels the need to tell her, setting it on the counter, "Or mead, as it were."

"Uh, great!" She smiles, though she's eying him sideways, oddly. Her old pal Steve looks a little ragged, and the fact that he's scored one of the few things that can get him drunk (Alfheimr wine is even more potent, the Avengers had learned on one fateful diplomatic mission. Darcy filed the paperwork. And the naked pictures) is a warning sign, "...You okay, hun?" She asks, grabbing a bag of corn chips, jar of salsa, and heading for the living room. He follows, sighing, shrugging his shoulders.

"Beth and I had a fight," He admits, flopping back onto her couch, "Uh, a big one too. I've never...I'm not, I mean..."

"Not equipped for dealing with couple-fights, I gotchya," She smirks, resigning herself to the fact that this visit probably won't be much about her. But hey, that's fine. She's Darcy Lewis, bff-extraordinaire, and she's still processing her own problems anyway, "Well you've come to the right gal," A mirthless chuckle leaves her lips, and she finds herself aching for a beer...and oh hell, Jean had told her that one a day wouldn't hurt in the slightest, Darcy's just tied up on taboos. She rises, grabbing one from the fridge, "What's the damage, Cap?"

"She wants to have kids," He sighs, and Darcy pauses, halfway through popping the cap on her drink on the counter.

"...What, like now?" She blinks, taking a pull of Sam Adams. Ahh, good ol' Sam. "Not like...let's have babies when there's a lull in the action, or...?"

"No, now." Steve swallows, hard, and Darcy pours him a (small) glass of his mead, handing it to him, "...Darcy I don't...now?! We've got this Hydra thing to handle, and Thanos is still out there somewhere..."

"God, trust me I know," She groans, sitting next to him and pressing her cold beer to her forehead. It's then that Steve seems to really -see- her, how pale and drawn she is, pausing before delving into his drink. Darcy glances his way, sighing, shaking her head. Well, why not. "I'm pregnant, Steve."

"...Get out of town," He gulps, eying her up and down. She smiles a little, sadly, but she does. "...I thought... I mean, gals are taking the pill now, so..." And oh, how the married superhero can still turn red over certain subjects. It's adorable, and eases up Darcy's nerves even more.

"We certainly are," She nods, "But uh, antibiotics can mess with that. Which I kinda forgot about, after I got shot..." She pauses, shutting her eyes, doing math that she hadn't bothered to do back at the Mansion. She'd been injured, and started taking meds, and hadn't had sex again until almost five weeks ago, when... "Fuck, I conceived on the night he almost killed me." Steve sucks in a breath, and Darcy feels an arm resting across her shoulders, warm and steady.

"...What are you going to do?" He asks carefully, she can hear it in his voice. He knows how things are nowadays, that abortions, while not something he's a fan of, are safe and clean. And judging from the way he's looking at her, waiting for an answer, Darcy's pretty sure that, whether or not he has a problem with it, she's got Captain America's support as a friend.

"I...I don't know yet," She admits, looking down at her hands, "If he were here it'd be different, but he isn't, so..." She looks up at him, "Not to uh, detract from your shit dude, but. What do you think?"

"Nah, don't feel bad," He sighs again, long and low, his brow creasing as he thinks, "I think it's a real bad time for anyone to be having kids. But you've already got one cookin'. I'll always believe it's already life, but ...I also believe it's up to you. And I guess him, but..." He smirks, sipping his mead, "...I uh. I never told you, about how I knew Logan back in the war, did I?" Darcy blinks.

"No...I mean, you mentioned it once, but," She pauses, doing her math swiftly, "...Steve, was that before...?"

"He lost his memory? I guess so, he was going by another name then," He squints, eyes on the tv for a moment, "We met, in passing mind you. Military had me on some pretty intense missions, not much contact outside of my immediate team, but..." He scrubs a hand through his hair, shaking his head, "He was Lieutenant James Howlett back then. Mutant, his regiment worked with my team for a few days, but after that first day, he and his brother went their own way."

"...You never told me his real name..." Darcy hears herself say, as if from far away, and Captain America just shakes his head.

"Was his business, I guess I just didn't want to overstep," Steve sighs, "I also didn't know how far Professor Xavier had gotten with Logan's head, I just..." He looks at her steadily, "I didn't think it'd change much, letting him find out in his time, or ask me in his time, but now..." Steve bites his lip, "Seems like you should know, now. Man had a brother, Victor...nasty piece of work. Logan...James...he stuck up for the guy though, God knows why. But then, that's how brothers are, I guess. I never saw them again, after that first day. When I woke up though, I..." Here, a pained look crosses his face, "...I found out about how many times they tried to recreate me, use my serum, and then they found out about mutation. I know, now, that Logan and his metal bones had to be one of those attempts."

"...Gotchya," Darcy breathes, a hand slipping to her middle again, without her permission, "So...Victor..." She pauses, blinking, "Victor, Victor...oh hell..." Her eyes widen, as Steve tosses back his drink, "Last year, when Victor Creed was after Logan. He said it was like the guy had a personal vendetta..."

"Creed...Sabertooth," Cap's eyes widen to match hers, "Son of a gun, how'd I never put it together? I mean. Guess we weren't working as close with the X-Men last year but even so. Where's Victor now?"

"Supposedly he died before his hearing, but Logan never believed that," Darcy bites her lip, "...Damnit, this poor kid is gonna have one messed up family."

"Providing it's born," Steve reminds her, only vaguely disapproving. Darcy nods, biting her lip.

"Yeah..." She pushes out a breath, cataloging all this for later musing, "...How do you think Beth would feel about a kid who might have claws?" That finally gets Steve laughing.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy wakes up to Rogue's arms around her shoulders, hands carefully tucked into her sleeves. The mutant is still asleep, but Darcy knows that won't last long beyond her own stirring. Marie's clothes aren't that rumbled either, maybe the night hadn't had been as surefire a thing as she'd thought. Darcy presses her own palms into her eye sockets, wondering if Steve had had better luck when he went back home. She'd offered her best advice, such as it was. She knew he and Beth would be fine, the universe couldn't be -that- cruel.

"Daaaaarcy," Marie yawns behind her, "There was a Jubilee in my bed."

"Yeah, sorry, I kind of left her there..." Darcy groans, sitting up, her head suddenly swimming. This perplexes her, as she'd had all of one beer last night...and then she remembers why she only had one, and bolts for the bathroom to heave up last night's junk food. Marie follows, a cool cloth at Darcy's brow and a covered hand brushing back her hair for her.

"She told me."

"Jubes has a big mouth," Darcy grumbles, even as she sighs gratefully, her stomach roiling. "...What do you think?"

Marie worries her bottom lip for a long moment, before replying, "I think..." She answers, slowly, "...That whether that wonderful asshole comes back or not, a whole lotta people are gonna love the hell outta that kid, Sugar, a kid we'd never though would happen. But, none of us are you, or gotta go through what you've gotta go through, so."

"Best thing I've heard yet," Darcy flushes the toilet, sitting back on the cool tiles and breathing deep. Rogue is quick with a glass of water, and Darcy takes a long, greedy drink before going on. Her head's been a fog up 'til now, but honestly, her choice had been made a while ago. It was just the mustering herself for it that she'd had to do. "So! Guess what?"

"Mmm?" Rogue gives her a smile, tilting her head. Darcy reminds herself to ask how things went with the good doctor, after this. For the immediate future, though...

"You're gonna be an aunt," She grumbles, wincing at the loud shriek and bear hug she gets in response.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	9. Chapter 9

((...Why yes, I did put a certain song on repeat while writing the last scene, why do you ask?))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 9

.

.

"All along it was a fever,  
A cold with high-headed believers,  
I threw my hands in the air I said show me something,  
He said, if you dare come a little closer..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Aside from Captain America and a certain loudmouth teenage mutant, Darcy tells very few people about the baby, at first. Jane, of course, from whom she gets a vaguely disapproving, yet supportive response ("You're way too young. That said, I get to buy the crib."), and Thor, who very kindly offers to hunt Logan down and beat him into submission. She thanks him, but says she'd like to keep it from SHIELD as long as possible, and one of their heroes attacking one of the X-Men might blow her cover. Plus, you know, she kind of still loves the guy. Bruce surprises her by dropping by her office on Monday with herbal tea, and Darcy recalls that Marie hadn't the most discreet of mouths either. And seeing as how she wasn't using it for anything else on their dates...

"Ah, you heard about that," The scientist cringes, and Darcy just gives him a smile over her camomile.

"Hey it's not like you can be in an uncomplicated relationship with just any -normal- gal, let alone one who could set you off with a slip of her body stocking." Darcy notes, enjoying the way the older man's ears tint with red, even as he grins.

"You're not wrong," He nods, slowly, "Though, from a purely scientific standpoint, I'd be curious to know if the pain of her mutation would set me off, or if in fact the absorbent nature of it would make the Hulk actually -retreat- further, or some measured blend of the two..." He trails off, and Darcy can only give him a shrug.

"Never know until you try!" She grins, even if she knows Bruce won't do anything of the sort. At least, not yet. She's seen the way her bold friend can coax something out of him, though, almost like Tony Stark does at times. Only, you know, with lady-parts. "Marie pokes the beast in the best way, Bruce..." It reminds Darcy of a certain other beast, in fact, and she bites her lip, looking away. Bruce just gives her hand a squeeze.

"It'll all be all right, Agent Lewis," He smirks, and Darcy can almost believe it. "And she sure does...guess there's nothing for either you or me than to see where life takes us."

"Best advice, big guy."

.

.

.

.

.

.

November is fading when the ache to know how she's doing gets to be too much. But Logan stubbornly persists in staying away. He knows Charles could find him in short order, if he had to. If something terrible happened, if she or Jubes were hurt. But no contact is made, and so Wolverine keeps traveling across Asia and into Europe. The cold keeps him in the present, in his current surroundings. Not thinking about home. Not thinking about the news reports he'd catch in hostels or bars along the way, about the most recent heroics pulled by The Avengers or X-Men.

At least, he tells himself he's not thinking about 'em.

It's when he's passing through Moscow and spots holiday decorations in a shop display, that it finally gets to be too much. Wiping at a bleeding lip he'd scored in a tavern down the way, Logan pauses in front of the lit window as the cut heals over in the stinging cold. It isn't so much what the store is selling...costly shit, fur and jewelry, stuff she'd laugh at. No, it's the fir and the fake snow, the baubles and the vaguely creepy, Eastern-European Santa and Krampus figurines. Darcy would get one hell of a kick out of Krampus.

He grumbles into the night, moving on, head ducked against the wind. Maybe he'll check in on her, on 'em all, find a pay-phone maybe and give Charles a call. It'll be Christmas soon, after all, and at least knowing they're all warm and better off would ease his mind. It's about then that he finally catches scent of the ragged orphan who's been following him since the tavern, poking around in his head in a way that reminds him of Charles, asking him if he's got any food with his mind. Logan turns, eying the ten year old mutant boy in a threadbare coat and holey shoes, and sighs, rolling his eyes.

Right, so maybe he'd be home for Christmas after all. But only because of that damned soft spot for orphans, he swears.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Day well-saved?" Darcy asks, as her sort-of roommate breezes into the apartment and out of the mid-December cold, peeling off her scorched and blood-stained green spandex as she goes. Marie grins wide, nodding, making a b-line for the bathroom and turning on the shower. Darcy shakes her head, punching in a few texts to Coulson. The skirmish had happened after she'd left the office, thank you, but she'd been keeping tabs via her laptop and one very text-happy liaison.

"Nothin' like a good tumble with aliens in Central Park," Marie calls, not bothering to close the bathroom door. She and Darcy didn't exactly have many boundaries in place, at least not when company wasn't over. "-And- I got a date tonight."

"Funny, how battling evil can effect the mild-mannered good doctor," Darcy sighs, propping her aching feet up on her second-hand coffee table. She'd swapped her pencil skirt and shiny red heels for yoga pants and one of Marie's Xavier Institute tank-tops almost as soon as she'd come home. It would behoove her to go shopping for roomier office-wear soon, but Darcy wasn't nearly ready to concede her pinup-esque professional garb just yet. She was pretty sure maternity wear catered to that ascetic, though. And if it didn't, well, years of making/altering her own clothes in highschool need not be wasted. No way in hell Darcy Lewis was wearing a pastel maternity pantsuit to SHIELD Headquarters, no way no how...

...Funny, she wasn't feeling particularly hormonal yet, but she did find herself going off on mental tangents way more often, and they were taking her further afield. Was Arkham up on his flea medication? She was pretty sure she still had her six month supply from Pet Smart, but had she actually dabbed him with the stuff and oh hell there she goes again...

"We're goin' to a swing place, if y'can believe it," Marie tells her, yanking a green dress on over her wet two-tone hair, and effectively yanking Darcy back into the present, "I think everyone's goin' actually, Tony Stark mentioned the place, it's his wife's birthday. You should come, Sugar!"

"...Tempting, but, I don't really feel like being the way-too-sober..." Darcy pauses, to figure on her fingers for a few moments, "...Eleventh wheel tonight. Plus I've got to be in Westchester for the debriefing tomorrow," She taps her laptop screen, full of intel on the battle. That was one of the more fun things Darcy could do from home, hack street cameras. "Yanno, that place you technically live..."

"You love having me here, don't even," Marie scoffs, twisting up her hair. Darcy feels her eyes on her though, thoughtful, and it causes an itch between her shoulder blades, "...I know you can't exactly party as hard as the rest anymore, Darce, but you need to get outta the house sometimes..."

"I am getting out of the house!" Darcy protests, half-heartedly.

"Work and Westchester don't count." Marie tells her firmly, her voice losing some of its usual joviality, "I'm serious, hun. I know life's dealt you a hand, but you've been like...on pause for the last three months, ever since he went away. Where's that gal who wanted nuthin' more than to hop on her bike and ride off into nowhere every few months, mmm?"

"...I have a lot more to think about," Darcy murmurs, shaking her head, eyes firmly on her screen, "...And that itch hasn't left," She admits, sighing, going on softly, "I just. Maybe I -want- to be on pause. Maybe I want to wait before I have fun again, until I know..." Her breath catches, and she draws in a deep breath. Damnit, Darcy hasn't lost it in weeks now, but maybe it was only a matter of time, before her hormones finally revealed themselves, "...until I know where he is. If he's ever coming back, if...I just. I want to be here, if he finally lets me know..."

A pair of arms (covered in a shrug) wrap around her shoulders, tight, from over the back of the couch, "...I gotchya, hun. Just...you know you can't do this forever, yeah?"

"Yeah, I know..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy gets her debriefing in before noon, and then gets blackmailed into helping Jubes and Bobby make sugar cookies before her sonogram downstairs. Jean gives her a smile, tilting her head, "You know, there are doctors in New York City too..."

"Yeah, but there's also SHIELD, and my bosses don't technically know about this yet," Darcy replies, settling back on the exam bed. She was kind of suspicious of the looks Phil kept sending her way, though. Not much made it past that man, after all. He'd definitely be the first she informed, at least. "And besides, you were the one to find the unholy spawn."

"That seems a good description," The Doctor smirks, kindly warming up the goo before squeezing it onto Darcy's only vaguely rounded middle, "And I must admit, I'm glad that the first time the ultrasound equipment gets used for a pregnancy, it isn't on someone who's still a student."

"That a concern?" Darcy asks, as the grainy screen lights up. Jean Grey sighs.

"We're very good with sex ed and providing protection, but, kids -will- be kids...aha!" She grins, "There's your little unholy spawn."

"...Huh." Not that Darcy can make much sense of the black and grey weirdness that is a sonogram, but there's definitely a little round lump of person in the static of her uterus. "...Kind of looks like a peanut, yeah?"

"A peanut that already has fingers and toes, yup," Jean's smile is wider than Darcy's ever seen it, and she notices her noticing, "Sorry, I'm kind of a sap right now...we really need to get word to him, somehow..."

"Yeah..." Darcy gulps, eying her baby's heartbeat on the monitor. Well, if her swiftly shrinking wardrobe hadn't already made it all real...

.

.

.

.

.

.

Logan slips into the mansion well after midnight, a half-asleep kid at his side. There's snow falling outside, thick and deep now, and he can just imagine how the students, and certain faculty, had likely enjoyed it thoroughly earlier in the day. Professor X is waiting to his complete lack of surprise, wheeling into the vestibule with a faint smile. "Anton," He greets Logan's mute companion first. The young Russian boy doesn't speak...he never does, Logan's learned...but he does smile, clearly getting a message in his head that Logan can't hear.

"I've a room ready for you, Anton," Charles says aloud, no doubt for Logan's benefit. The boy approaches, and Charles finally looks up to Logan, smiling again, though his eyes are unreadable and, frankly, a little unsettling. "We've missed you, Logan."

"Yeah, well," Wolverine looks away, down a hall, at anything other than the man's face, "...Not much good to the people who miss me, now am I?" He looks back, tilting his head. He can hear Anton's vague disagreement in his head, while Charles just shakes his.

"I know you truly think that, Logan, but I cannot fully express to you how wrong you are," The Professor tells him, gently, "Miss Lee, Rogue, all the faculty, they've missed you sorely. The mansion has been poorer without you. And Miss Lewis..."

"Should wanna stay away more than any of 'em," He grumbles, shaking his head. However, he can only resist for so long, "...Is she...are they all...?"

"Everyone's quite well, since you left, yes." Charles nods, once, though Logan can tell when he's not being told everything. He sighs though, accepting all this.

"Well good," He clears his throat, "S'all right if I crash for the night? I need to be movin' again in the mornin', but..."

"Of course." Charles nods again, motioning for Anton to follow him, "Though I do sincerely hope you'll change your mind, Logan...oh, also," He smirks, wheeling away, "Your room is currently occupied. Miss Lewis stayed late for the snowball fight."

Logan freezes, hands flexing at his sides. She was here...he almost turned and headed straight for his bike, for the nearest motel, for all of ten seconds. But the cord that tied him to her gave a mighty yank, and he was heading up the familiar stairs and down well-trod halls to his old room, boots heavy on the floor, heart heavy in his hands.

.

.

.

.

.

.

He pauses in the doorway, watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing. Darcy's wrapped up tight in his blankets, her work clothes folded neatly on his dresser. By the faint light of the small lamp in the corner, Logan can tell that she's sleeping in one of the t-shirts he'd left behind, and it makes his chest tighten a bit, his feet moving forward almost without his permission. She's lying on her side, facing away from him and his fingers brush back her long hair. It's longer now, he notices. Maybe a little thicker.

A shuddering breath leaves him, as his rough fingers brush the smooth skin at the back of her neck. Logan kneels by the side of the bed, sighing, leaning down to press his lips to that spot, eyes shut, amazed at how thoroughly being near her again has undone him. That she was still coming to sleep in his room after nearly three months apart, it shook him. He didn't know why he'd always thought that running away would make his loved ones forget about him and his destructive ways, but they never did. Rogue had carried his dog tags until he came back. Jubes had held him in skinny arms like iron last year. And tonight, Darcy was still sleeping in his bed.

He draws in a breath again as she stirs slightly, and that's when he catches it, the change in her scent. Logan frowns, inhaling again, lips and nose close to her pulse, and under the combined scent of shampoo and sugar cookies and the salt on her skin, he catches it. The shift in her hormones, in her pheromones, and it almost makes his heart stop. Carefully, with a limb that's very nearly shaking, he slips a hand under the covers and presses it to her middle. The swell there is almost nothing, but when he presses slightly, there's no give to her stomach. She's stirring more, too, waking even as he's trying to gather his breath, "Mmph...Logan?"

"...Hey kid," He manages to force out as she turns over, blinking sleep from her eyes. He can see the moment when his presence becomes real to her, and then her eyes are wide, and her arms are around his neck, clutching to him, and Logan has no defenses in this moment, not a single one.

"Oh god where've you..."

"Shh," He swallows, her lips covering his face, his neck, "I've been travelin'..."

"...You just left..." She chokes, suddenly, eyes filling and chest heaving, and Logan's moving onto the bed, gathering her up, hating himself perhaps more than he ever has, "I w-woke up and y-you were gone and..."

"I know, darlin', I'm so sorry," Logan sucks in a breath, "...You're..." The hand that's still on her stomach moves, and she bites her lip, looking up at him.

"...I was gonna kick your ass for that, next I saw you, but I -was- the one on a cocktail of pills at the time..."

"...Probably still should," He swallows, a grin tugging at his lips. God damnit, her eyes are so bright, looking up at him. And she's...they're...aw, fuckin' hell. Logan gathers her up in his arms, pressing his face to her neck, a firm plan staking a claim on his mind even as he drowns in the scent of her.

"...I've gotta go away again in the mornin', darlin'..." She tenses in his arms, but she doesn't yell, or push him away, not yet. Darcy just pulls back a bit, looking him in the eye with a guarded look, and he pushes on, "I'll be back though," He finds himself promising, and holy hell, he actually means it, means it even more than when he'd pushed his tags into Marie's hands, "I promise, I'll be back before..." He glances down, between them, not quite ready to put a name on it, cause he's not quite sure if he wants to believe in it, "...There's somethin' I gotta do first, though. I'm no good to you...either of you, way I am now..." Darcy presses her lips together, nodding slowly.

"You do know..." She replies, slowly, sucking in a breath, "That if you're lyin', I have all the means at my disposal to have you hunted down and skinned by a Norse god. You'll be an area rug in Asgard." There's a hint of a smile around her lips, though, for all the hurt that's in her eyes. Logan groans, tugging her up to his lips and kissing her, fierce and hard and lingering, putting everything he can't say out loud into it. His hands pull through her hair, rough and needy, and it isn't long before she's responding in turn, tugging at his jacket, his shirt.

Logan knows he doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve her trusting him at his word, after what he'd just pulled on her. But she's there, and her scent is dulling his higher functions, the animal taking over. She was his, his mate, and he'd gotten her knocked up. Logan had fucked up a lot of things in his life, but this wasn't going to be one of them. In a matter of minutes he'd decided this, made it his goal. He doesn't really know how to make her believe that he'll be back, though, other than to keep murmuring it into her skin, over and over, as he makes love to her again.

Hell, he'd missed this so much, too. Darcy and her small hands clutching him close, more vulnerable than he's ever seen her in this moment, wrapping herself around him tight. When he pulls away from her at around 3 in the morning, pressing kisses along the scars on her lips and chin and chest, she lets him go carefully, meeting his gaze steadily. "You'll be back." She repeats at him, no question in her words, and leaving no room for him to back down. Logan swallows, pressing a palm to her stomach and replying steadily.

"I'll be back."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	10. Chapter 10

((Little known/talked about fact: One alcoholic beverage in a day is not only perfectly safe while pregnant, but can have lots of benefits! It's relaxing, reduces stress, loosens a mother's muscles, etc. Apparently a little more is okay even, but I for one would feel like that's pushing it. Because even lesser known fact? ONE DRINK CAN -FEEL- LIKE 4 WHILE YOU'RE PREGNANT. My sister in law tells me this emphatically (4 kids, all perfectly healthy, unless one thinks severe geekery from birth is a defect). Also, slightly filler chapter, but not really. Musings are never filler, in my book.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 10

.

.

"I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy,  
I'm tired of driving 'till I see stars in my eyes,  
I look up to hear myself saying,  
Baby, too much I strive, I just ride..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

"You're pregnant."

Darcy blinks, halfway through the act of sitting down in the chair opposite Phil Coulson's desk. He's meeting her gaze steadily and mildly, as per usual, and after a moment Darcy just sighs, her bum hitting the seat. "How is it you get to know -everything-, Sherlock?" His smirk widens just a bit.

"I pay attention, Agent Lewis." He replies, nodding to her middle as if she's showing more than she would at a meager three and a half months, "You've recently had your favorite pencil skirt altered to add five inches. I can see the new seams."

"...Phil, you studying my seams might count as sexual harassment. Were you any other man, that is." She gets a flat look in reply, before her superior goes on.

"Jane Foster has had cribs marked in the Macy's catalog on her desk. As she has expressed her opinion on procreating quite loudly, I have no reason to believe that she'd be open to birthing demi-gods until filling out the paperwork and taking a 9-month leave in Asgard, safe and secure," He smirks, and Darcy tries not to be offended by his subtle hint that her lack of planning was a little inexcusable, "Bruce Banner has been bringing you herbal teas, and you've been having tomato soup every day with lunch for the past month, despite proclaiming loudly, on your first visit to the caf a year ago, that tomato soup was, and I quote, 'The mensies of the devil'."

"...Seriously Phil." Darcy blinks, "Were you anything other than a bad-ass mother-fucker SHIELD agent, you'd make one hell of a stalker. How does this work when you're dating...?"

"I somehow doubt you'd be surprised by how much women appreciate an attentive man." He answers, calmly, the hint of a smile around his mouth and eyes. Darcy smiles back after a moment, sighing.

"True. So yeah, actually the whole reason I came in on Christmas Eve was to let you know," Darcy smooths the front of her blouse, "It's gonna start showing soon, and I'm not some idiot who's going to pretend it isn't. Lump, spawn inside, just the way it is..."

"Understood," Phil links his fingers together, giving her that searching, contemplative look that always gets her worrying that there's food on her face. "You do plan on continuing with your regular duties, I expect?" Darcy nods, emphatically.

"I admit I...might not be taking as many risks, but," Darcy shakes her head, "I see no reason why I can't keep working. Heroes are the ones in the thick of it anyway, yeah? I'm just on the margins with the gun, and then I'm filing all the paperwork..."

"You'd think," Coulson says, carefully, "...Even so, I'll be assigning you an intern..." Darcy groans, and Phil fixes her with that look again, "You're still the liaison, Agent Lewis. I am simply..." He gestures, and suddenly Darcy grins, tilting her head.

"...Giving me a lackey?" He lofts a single brow, and she's suddenly feeling much better, "Oh hoho, someone to boss around in the field while I'm doing all the watching and brain-working, I like the way you think Agent Coulson." He rolls his eyes, but Darcy's grin just widens, "...I might not be actively seeking out firefights anymore, boss, but that still doesn't mean that if it falls on me, I won't attempt thrilling heroics."

"I never thought that for a moment, Agent Lewis. I am simply hedging my bets."

.

.

.

.

.

.

There's a vigor that's been filling up her bones. Some might find that having their boyfriend drop back into their life for a few hours only to disappear again to be a rather traumatic, confusing thing. Darcy Lewis, however, takes it as a much-needed reassurance. That's not to say she's not still a little pissed, oh no. And it's not like she can imagine some kind of fluffy world where superheroes suddenly find themselves without angst or arch-villains, cracktastically picking out pastel wallpaper and going to Lamaze classes together. In fact, if her life ever becomes that kind of cliché, Darcy hopes there's someone there to end it for her.

But...there is that thing, that wanting him there, telling her how he really feels about all this, about her having his kid. She wants him there to laugh at all this shit with her, the crazy women offering her unasked-for advice in the office, acting like women weren't pumping out spawn for a million years before water births or crib pads were invented. She wants him there when all she wants in the world is a giant tub of fucking tomato soup from the deli down the street (though Rogue is proving to be an excellent errand-girl). She wants him there to assure her that no, their trips out into the middle of nowhere weren't going to end, that she'd be doing shots again and dancing 'til dawn at some dive with him still. Maybe not as often as she once had, but goddamnit, she had the paycheck to pay for a babysitter, assuming one of the amiable super-soldiers or Norse gods they knew didn't volunteer first.

Anyway, all that, it does have her a little petulant because hello, Darcy Lewis may be awesome, but she isn't a saint. Still, there's that thread they share, tying them together. Darcy usually doesn't have this kind of patience with people, flawed, paper-thin things that they are. Logan is different, though. For one, he's not paper-thin and for two, she's let herself into his makeup and genetics almost more than anyone else. For all she's the way she's always been, jumping at the chance to get angry at the half of the relationship who wasn't her, she also loves him, trusts him. He says he needs to go away, she knows it's the truth, not some lame excuse like from one of the spineless wonders she'd dated in the past. Logan means it when he says he's no good for her right now, much as she'd disagree, even with the scars splitting her face. He believes the lies the world has affirmed in him, because he's had so many years of them. She knew he wanted to get this right.

So yeah, for all that she wishes she had the outlet of bitching and complaining about her baby-daddy like a normal chick in this situation, Darcy is kind of glad that she has something better, something higher and more meaningful if you like, even if it is lonely as hell. It's a trust with another person she's never had, at least not with someone who wasn't family. She supposed he was kind of was family now.

For the present, it's enough.

Even so. It'd be a lot nicer if Logan was the one coming in from the snow with a tub of soup for her, cause that would lead to all kinds of good fun (why do so few resources warn a woman about how HORNY pregnancy can make a gal?! Cause goddamn). She supposes Marie is still good company, though she does eye her sideways, noting that it's Christmas Eve and she's -still there-, not in Westchester with her other close friends. When she finally mentions this out loud, her friend just heaves a sigh, shaking her head, and Darcy realizes that maybe she's been spending a bit too much time analyzing her own drama, as opposed to the drama sharing a penthouse with her.

"That's just..." Marie groans, pushing her palms into her eye sockets, "...I haven't looked Remy in th' eye since I started seein' someone new, Sugar."

"Ahhh," Darcy smirks around her eggnog, "-Now- we're talkin' about stuff.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Somewhere over the Pacific Logan had finally let the truth into his soul, that he was going to be a father.

Father. God almighty...

There was going to be a person in this world with his blood in their veins, all his good and all his bad and all that gorgeous, wild, ridiculous stuff from its mother. It was a concept that had been so vague, strange and alien to him once. Now it's settling in his bones, that he'd left something of himself with a girl barely old enough to be out on her own, let alone a SHIELD liaison with a gun at her hip and his heart in her hands, his kid in her belly.

It's funny, her age has only ever been an issue with him when -he- screws up. Not when she's acting like a kid, but when he's got what he thinks is a reason to push her away. That's when she's suddenly twenty-two again, when he's telling himself that he had no business being with her anyway, messing with her life. This time, though, he's catching himself, growling inside his own head because no matter how old she is or isn't, he loves her and she's in this situation, they'd gotten there together, and there was no way in hell he was going to be absent. Well...once the kid was born, anyway. Logan knows he has no business being in any kid's life, now, until he faces some things. And of all the places he'd traveled, he knows one that might grant him what he seeks.

Still, he knows this could easily be seen as the coward's way out by anyone else. He's run off, he's left her, and if any of her...or his...companions find out about it before talking to Darcy, Logan might very well find himself at the receiving end of a Shield, or an arc reactor, or a bolt of lightning. Or Rogue sucking out his life force until he's an empty husk again, Logan wouldn't put it past her. And Charles could do interesting things to Logan's mind, given enough motivation.

And maybe Logan is scared shitless. The man couldn't remember his own father, how the hell was he supposed to know how to -be- one? But there's Darcy...and he finds that it's not so hard to picture, with her...having a family.

So yeah, he's running. But it's with a purpose this time. And Wolverine sure as hell will be running back.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Christmas comes and goes, more pleasant than Darcy might've thought it would. Jane, Erik and Bruce chase after a wormhole over South Africa at the last minute, so Darcy gets to step in as Thor's date to Tony Stark's annual New Year's Eve Party. It's a charity, night out, and PR opportunity for the Avengers, and she's more than happy to be a part of all three. It might be the last time she gets to wear something fancy for a while without looking like a parade float, so Darcy goes all out for once on SHIELD's dollar, getting something emerald green and royal-looking. Of course, were it Jane on Thor's arm, she'd probably be wearing something spangly and gold gifted to her by her future mother-in-law, but Thor praises her all the same.

"I am glad you shall be experiencing this!" He tells her brightly, as they enter the media fray leading up to the event. Darcy's hyper-aware of the cameras going off, and secretly hopes that maybe a certain someone will catch sight of her image the next day, wherever he is. Presently she just grins to the god at her side who's hamming it up for the press.

"I think like, the last thing I got to go to was New Years last year, so yeah, been a while," Darcy fakes a shocked and appalled face, when someone behind the flashbulbs calls out asking if Thor has a new squeeze.

"My lady love is pursuing her studies this night! Lady Darcy is my friend!" His jovial, booming voice carries, melting the crowds like butter in his big hands, while in an undertone her asks, "...You recall what happened then, of course?"

"Of course," Darcy murmurs back through her teeth, smiling for the cameras, recalling the carnage that had almost ruined the night, "I've got a gun in my garter and a knife in my purse." Thor's smile widens even further, which Darcy wouldn't have thought possible.

"Lady Darcy Lewis, such a warrior you have become!" He proclaims, as they're climbing the gallery stairs and heading inside, "Though do be sure, should mayhem befall, we'll not let you deep into the fray!" She snorts, waving to Hawkeye and Widow by the back corner. Natasha in a red dress is almost as natural for her as breathing. However, Clint in a tux, while quite the eye-candy, looks like he'd rather be wearing a suit of bees.

"Thor," Darcy goes on, conversationally, steering them toward the beverages. She can have all of one whopping drink tonight, and it's gonna be champagne and it's gonna count, because who knows at which point they might get jumped, "Did Frigga stop keeping a sword nearby while she was knocked up? Would Sif? Natasha?"

"Well, no, but they're..."

"I have a bad guy body count too, big guy," Darcy grins, "Like I promised the Son of Coul, I won't be an idiot, but a girl who can't shoot bastards in the face is a pretty poor excuse for a superhero mother." Thor's booming laugh has people turning their heads from across the room.

"Well said!" Darcy winces, as an empty champagne glass meets its end on the marble floor. Someday he'd learn.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The windows shatter at around ten o'clock, and Steve's already shouting for the civilians to file out the covered exits, Beth in her shimmering pink dress clutching his hand tight before she's kicking off her spangly Louboutins and running for it. Hydra agents are attempting to open fire on the crowd, and mostly failing as Thor already has Mjolnir in hand, messing with their strange weapons with his lightning. Tony isn't anywhere to be seen, but Darcy knows that's because he's feigned his infamous tardy rudeness as a cover for the fact that he's been circling the city above, on guard.

They all knew that if there was a Hydra attack tonight, it'd likely be used as a distraction to get at their tech from the labs, and Iron Man is no doubt heading straight for SHIELD headquarters at the moment. In fact, Darcy's not sure if tonight wasn't kind of a bait for their obnoxiously elusive enemies in the first place. Then again, there had been a lot of fat checks written for the VA hospitals Cap frequents, so perhaps tonight was just multi-purpose?

At any rate, Darcy's got her skirts hiked up and her gun drawn, firing off rounds as she backs away behind the crowd of civilians, calling out for backup via the hidden com in her studded earring. Coulson's calmly calling orders to her, when one Hydra agent with an actual gun with actual bullets gets off a shot, grazing Darcy's arm. With a hiss, a growl, and a viciously accurate few rounds fired back into the man's face, she has him and a few others down before she's out the door.

It's around then that she's affirmed in her notion, that some mama-bear-level of survival instincts actually do exist in Darcy's blood, and far from making her irrational or emotionally compromised, this is all probably going to make her one hell of an Agent.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	11. Chapter 11

((Sorry this one has taken a bit, and for how short it is. Writer's block and a bout of the sads hit at the same time. I push through, though! Keeping busy and moving and active is helpful. Thanks for being patient and also for all the love this has been getting. You're all lovely.

...And can we just talk about how much Fox wasted something special with Rogue? Watch ANY episode of True Blood. Anna Paquin is basically playing comic-Rogue, accent and all. WTF was with the helpless emo shit in MCU?! ….Just. Had to get that out. Proceed.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 11

.

.

.

.

.

.

There's been this itch between her shoulder blades when she heads home after dark lately. Like someone is watching her, sniffing after her trail. And not in the comforting, only vaguely-weird way that Logan does, oh no. This has Darcy's hackles rising, her gaze sweeping over her shoulders and a shiver running through her blood. It isn't a good feeling, not in the slightest, and she breathes a deep breath of relief when she's inside her building. She hasn't -seen- anyone tailing her, and she doesn't want to react purely on something as ephemeral as, say, hormones playing tricks on her. And so she decides to give it a bit before doing anything. Though she does hiss a curse out into the darkness after the third night in a row of twitching while punching in her code.

"Heya tugboat," Marie calls from the living room. Darcy shakes herself free of the lingering discomfort, putting on a smile. She'd finally gotten her friend to go home and face her tall, Cajun problem just before the New Years' attack, and Rogue's been back in Westchester for the following three weeks. Darcy admits it, she's missed her unofficial roommate. It's especially nice to have her back on a weird night like this.

"Heya skunk-hair," She tosses off her coat, taking a deep breath through her nose. Ahh, Rogue had ordered pizzas, four of them. Having her here rent-free really wasn't the worst thing in the world at all.

"Woah, now, that was mean," Marie pouts. Darcy just sends her a look, patting her expanding middle.

"You called me tugboat, the bar wasn't set that high."

"Granted. Jane and Natasha are on their way over, not sure if either of 'em told ya. Your girl Jane sent me a text. Guess the guys are busy?" Darcy nods, kicking off her pumps.

"Yeah apparently with three weeks of nothing evil to smash, the guys lose their mind. They're having a poker night," Darcy can't help smirking. Poor Thor and Steve. "...Bruce didn't mention it when you got into town?"

"I uh, don't think he knows I'm back yet..." Rogue clears her throat, and Darcy's eyes narrow sharply. "...I was gonna call 'im..."

"...If you hooked up with Remy I am beating you senseless, woman." She gets a lip bite in response. Darcy tosses a shoe at her head, Rogue dodges, "Okay seriously?!"

"Well no! I mean," A long, drawn-out sigh, "He did get me under the dyin' mistletoe, but that's all! Yanno how he gets..." Darcy isn't sated, though, fixing her friend with a steady glare as she flops onto the couch beside her.

"All right, yes, the man melts panties with his brain. Think I got a little blindsided by him once or twice. However, if you've just been using Jane Foster's socially-awkward science-buddy to get over your ex..." Her voice drops, into a horrible impression of Liam Neeson's Irish accent, "I have a very specific set of skills..."

"Calm your tits," Marie winces, rubbing her temples, "Your massive, unfairly enlargin' tits. I aint got no designs, I'm just..." She sighs again, shaking her head, her accent always getting thicker with her distress, "...I don't know Darcy. I like Bruce a lot, I really do, he's kind and all right, maybe a little withdrawn but it kinda makes me nicer, more patient..." She bites her lip, "...An' Remy an' me just bring out th' worst in each other. But he also gets m'blood boilin'. Uuuuugh," She groans, covering her face again. Darcy huffs, unable to stay -too- exasperated after all that. "...My problems aint nuthin' on yours, I know, but..."

"No, no, if anything they keep me distracted," Darcy smirks, leaning on her friend carefully, "And things that suck still suck, no matter how much they suck for me. Or something. I don't envy your connundrum," Marie chuckles, leaning on her friend in turn. "...But um..." Darcy hesitates, and then just sighs, "...There hasn't been any word back at the mansion, has there? Haven't really needed to go in person for a bit..." Marie's smile softens.

"No real word, no. Although," Marie replies, "Another orphan mutant did show up on the doorstep last week...Japanese kid," Darcy's brow goes up, "Can't speak a word to 'er and The Professor's his usual tight-lipped self. Pretty sure Logan sent 'er though."

"My love, he is indeed far afield..." Darcy murmurs, in the direction of the tv. Marie just hugs her tighter.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Natasha Romanov is a deceptively warm human being, Darcy has learned. She actually learned it a while ago, but having seen the woman in combat so many times since, it can still take Darcy by surprise when they're not working. Tasha really likes being able to let her hair down around other women, so to speak, and put her, Darcy and Rogue in the same room and the humor almost gets bad enough to make Dr. Jane Foster turn red. It's an excellent distraction.

"This movie is rife with horrible messages," Tasha notes presently, as they're halfway through Titanic, "For one, she's unarmed. For two, the woman lives a rich, full life after Jack, complete with multiple careers, traveling the world, a husband, children, grandchildren. And the fling she had when she was seventeen is the thing she's still dreaming about at a hundred years old? Taa," The Russian scoffs, and Rogue smirks.

"Oh? Tell me a better love story then, Moose'n Squrrel."

Natasha fixes Marie with a look that Darcy fears may melt stone. And then smirks, "...Someday. I will say that love when you're a child is. Well, it doesn't count," The spy tosses her head, squinting at the screen. "...Until you meet your equal, who isn't there for how you can fix him, or for the wild, awful storm you are together. But rather, how you can fix each other." She clears her throat, "THAT, ladies, is real love, which Rose should have learned by her great age. Not Leo and a sketchpad when she was still a child."

"...Ugh, just because you've got it made doesn't mean the rest of us do," Darcy grins, popping out the disc and replacing it with Rapunzel, "...But that's a good compass," She bites her lip, wondering if a volatile love can grow up too.

"So's destroying the bifrost, a relic of legend, to keep you safe," Jane notes, and Nat grins.

"The man might think with his biceps most of the time, but Thor -is- a romantic in his own way, yes..."

"...Gimme mutton-chops and an especial talent for violence any day," Darcy sighs, linking her palms over her middle and frowning at the television, trying not to let herself get sad. She'd been good and distracted up 'til now, damnit. Rogue is quiet too, though, and wraps an arm around her. Natasha also gives Darcy a thoughtful look.

"...I hear he's doing what he needs to?"

"That's the rumor, aye," Darcy salutes. Nat nods.

"Well, that I can understand." The spy looks back to the tv as well, sipping her beer. Her eyes are thoughtful though, and Darcy gets the impression that maybe Natasha and Logan really would understand each other pretty well. And that maybe there's more Darcy could be learning from the master assassin, than simply how to kill people efficiently.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"There have been some upsetting reports," Are the words that start Darcy's day the next morning, a call waiting for her from Professor Xavier himself. She frowns into the receiver as the man goes on, in that almost-maddeningly calm tone of his,"Along the east coast, there have been attacks and robberies with a certain signature all over them. Victor Creed's signature."

"...Oh hell," Darcy breathes, wincing, "I thought he was dead." Or maybe she'd just been hoping.

"So Black Widow thought, when he escaped her watch before his hearing," Xavier reminds her, "She's the one who shot him, you'll remember. His body managed to disappear somehow..."

"...Despite being a hundred yards ahead of her when he fell from a bullet to the head, yeah," Darcy reaches up, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"I'm sending Ororo and Kurt to examine the most recent evidence of his presence, in Philadelphia," Xavier continues, "But what worries me most is that I cannot get a steady read on him. As I could not the last time he was wrecking havoc, when he had young Miss Davis along with him."

"You think he's found himself another mind-bender?"

"I am almost certain of it," Charles chuckles, humorlessly. Darcy knows he's got some pretty strong feelings about the bad guys, and their habit of preying on younger, distressed and isolated mutants. Candy Davis had been all of sixteen when Victor picked her up with promises of mayhem and money, "He's arrogant and violent, but he seems to know that brute strength alone cannot help him reach these particular ends. Which seem to involve Logan."

"Logan's far away," Darcy notes quietly, "If Creed's sniffing for a trail, it's a cold one."

"Indeed," The Professor's voice goes thoughtful, "I expect SHIELD will want to send an agent out?"

"I'll have my little lackey on his way, sir, if Miss Ororo doesn't mind..." Darcy presses her lips together, glancing out the window, "...Professor should I be worried?" There's a pause.

"I'd be alert."

Darcy doesn't really need to be told twice.

.

.

.

.

.

.

New York City is an interesting animal at the lunch hour. Darcy doesn't often brave the outside world during lunch, not at all, but she's craving that damn tomato soup again and she's already sent her intern, Andrew, up to Westchester. So she goes herself, winding through the busy sidewalks at a brisk pace. Her new apartment isn't very far from SHIELD Headquarters at all, with the particular deli she's craving halfway between the two. It's such a familiar, high-traffic route during the day that Darcy doesn't even recall her discomfort she'd been feeling, walking it at night. She's too busy hoping Andrew isn't making a pest of himself, and musing on what the current mission might mean.

The line at the deli moves painfully slow, and she remembers, fondly, the time Logan'd gone on a rant about places like this. The city so wasn't his native habitat, though he had put up with it fine when he had to, for her. It's funny, but it always when she sees things that annoy the hell out of him that she finds herself missing him the most. Which, all right, maybe not the healthiest thing, were it any other two people. Annoyance and grumbling can be love-languages all on their own though (Darcy's been well aware of that since she was being half-raised by her grandfather).

So she's even got a smile on her face when she finally escapes the deli, to-go bag in hand full of soup and a giant grinder. Her head ducked against the cold city winds, now blowing with flurries, Darcy doesn't see him until she's almost bowling into him, stopping short as soon as she spots the motionless boots in front of her. She looks up, startled, into the half-puzzled face of Victor Creed.

There, in the middle of a crowded street, a block from HQ.

"Yanno, I thought y'smelled different. Can really tell up close." He finally drawls, taking a deep breath of the cold air through parched lips and pointed teeth. Darcy's backing away a step, free hand automatically going to her hip under her coat. Victor chuckles, shaking his head, "Oh darlin', you really gonna go at me right here, now?" Darcy bites her lip hard, sparing a glance around. People are still pushing past them, a busy crowd of civilians. No, that would be all wrong. She damn sure keeps her distance though, glaring at him, unable to help thinking that Natasha or Phil would know exactly what to do right now. The hulking, cruel-looking man chuckles again, "Thought not. Don't worry, I aint gonna go at you either...for now," His eyes suddenly sharpen on her, "Where is he?"

"Don't know," She tells him, evenly, bracing her feet on the concrete. Victor snorts.

"Expect me t'believe that?" He nods to her middle, sending her heart up into her throat, "He wouldn't leave you alone all knocked up, he's predictable like that. Unless..." His eyes narrow again, this time on the scars that still show, sharply, against her pale face. Darcy just presses her scarred lips together, lifting her chin. Sure the man might scare her shitless, might have dangled her in the air by her throat the last time she'd seen him. But no way in hell was he getting anything about their life out of her. Slowly, he seems to pick up on this, smirking again, eying her up and down as if for the first time. Darcy's stomach turns.

"He always did like 'em young, curvy, an' tough. Maybe yer even tough enough, if he's the one who gave you that face," He moves as if to brush past her, catching her arm and gripping it hard, nails digging into her coat. Darcy shuts her eyes tight but doesn't budge, doesn't cry out, even as his foul breath is in her ear, "You see him, you tell him I know, all right? You tell him I got my eyes on you, mmm?" He lets go, grinning and moving away, "And you take care of that baby, darlin'."

Darcy lets out her breath with a gasp, turning, but he's already gone around the corner. The lunch crowd continues to pass her by, as if nothing's wrong in the world. She presses her back up against the nearest building, fumbling in her pocket for a moment until she finds her cell and punching the first number with shaking fingers.

"Agent Lewis?"

"H-Hey Phil," She swallows, gripping her take-away bag with white knuckles, "So I've got a problem..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	12. Chapter 12

((Bah, I had such a scene planned for the end of this, then realized it couldn't happen yet. And then screamed at my computer. I know, things only I would know to be annoyed with...there'll be fluff soon though, never fear! Also I'm going to do some lighter one-shots for this 'verse shortly, for side-ships, and some much-requested Dalverine smut. Smuuuuuut. So there's that to get my frustrations out with! Which sounds totally healthy...

I'm also kind of homesick for Japan as winter approaches. If you can't tell.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Hokkaido winters are winters Logan can get on board with. Nearby Sapporo below fills with visitors and ice sculptures, and the air is harshly cold, the snow falls thick on the ground. The small house in the mountains is almost buried by the drift, and he's presently sitting out in that drift, bare to the waist and eyes closed, counting breaths. Mutant or not it isn't the most pleasant thing, being exposed to the sub-zero weather. But he's found it's a good way to focus the mind, or even to let it wander, away from something that might trigger a more aggressive response. Not that the animal wasn't always lingering just under the surface. It was just that Logan had a real good reason to get it fully under his command. Two good reasons, if the first's mother would still have him.

Logan isn't doing what he did when he first ran off, not at all. He's not spending his time dwelling on how wrong he is for her, because they'd always be tethered to each other now, no matter what he was or wasn't, if she still wanted to be with him or not. Logan's pretty sure he'd have gotten his rage sorted out eventually though, even without a runt on the way. Darcy was something special to him, and he sure wasn't some Saint who'd be able to stay away forever to keep her safe. He wasn't no Captain Fuckin' America. But a kid sure kicked him into high gear on the road to getting his shit together. She deserved better, and she'd kept his child...that had to mean she trusted him to be better. Believed he could be, despite skewering her in his sleep.

He thinks about her more and more, the longer he's away. He supposes this isn't so strange, the way he is and the way she's got him wrapped around her little finger. How she both gets his blood hot, and stirs up something real protective in him. But it's not only because he loves her, desires her. It's something deeper, primal. Try as he might to deny it, that feral side misses its mate something fierce, especially at night. Lying on his mat, Logan's head will start replaying the last year in vivid detail, motel rooms and her place in Queens and yes, his damned bed in Westchester that he'd almost killed her in.

Even in the cold nights on chill bamboo floor mats, he's found himself getting a little fevered, because it comes back so goddamn real, recalling her small, thick form under his hands. All that soft, pale skin against everything rough, everything gritty and scarred about him. Her full, pliant lips and her small, bossy hands. The way Darcy's laugh could dissolve into a breathless gasp as soon as his mouth and his stubble were at her throat. Her deceptively strong legs that could straddle him like a python and refuse to let go until he'd thoroughly satisfied her.

There's new images too, though, that warm him in a different, yet connected way. Logan can't help wondering what it would be like sliding his hands over her as she changed. Feeling...something more, something like having a family, a hand resting over her stomach and...

But he can't have that, not yet.

When he's honest, Logan admits that part of him doubts that he'll ever be able to trust himself. But he wants to, he wants what he might actually, finally be able to have. The world might try to rip it away, true. But Wolverine can fuckin' fight the world off, he'd been doing that for as long as he can remember. Now he's potentially got something real, something more than just his own life, something even more than Jubilee or Rogue or anyone else in Westchester. No, fighting off the world doesn't scare Logan. Fighting off himself is his greatest challenge now. In his own head, he's got to master that before he deserves what's waiting for him back home.

And so he sits in the snow, counting heartbeats and calming his head.

Four hours have passed by the time he hears the van coming up the road. Rising slowly, flexing half-frozen limbs, Logan lets himself shiver, finally, grabbing his jacket and yanking it on, turning away from the forest and making his way 'round to the front of the house. A small, bent old man is leaving the cab, turning to eye the big mutant up and down. He takes in Logan's blue lips and stamping feet with a faint chuckle.

"You," He says, in accented, yet only slightly broken english, "Watch too many American kung-fu movies!" He chuckles again, moving to open the back of the van. Without having to be asked, Logan hauls out the heavy wooden boxes with a grin, the crabs inside clacking their claws.

"Been workin' like a charm though, friend," Logan replies, stacking the boxes by the lean-to next to the house, the snow still falling around them. The old man just shakes his head, chuckling again.

"Choose two crab for tonight. Then, you'll learn about training the mind."

"...Only took ya five weeks of watchin' me bust, break, and freeze off my ass for ya to offer, I see."

"An old, poor man needs his entertainment, my friend."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy's never alone these days, and that's not just a reference to her growing, potentially-mutant spawn. For the past week and a half she's barely been out of someone's sight, an agent tailing her between home, work, and points beyond (not that she went many other places, even before Victor Creed popped up again). A part of her is a little annoyed at herself that she's so readily accepting protection but, well, for once Darcy knows that urge is ridiculously irrational. She's good, but she's not Sabertooth-good, and no way in hell is she testing herself against the man with a baby on board. Darcy's many things, but she isn't stupid.

At least, not anymore. And seriously, the dude scares her shitless. Self-proclaimed badsses, posturing douches, even hard, deluded Hydra agents, all those Darcy Lewis can handle. There's very little that's feeling, human, about Victor Creed though, and a violent sociopath three times her size, with an apparent hate-boner for his brother, is a whole other level of terrifying. So yes, she is thankful that someone, most often Natasha, is looking after her at all times.

Of course, there's a part of her that's wishing and aching for a certain someone -else- to be the one snarling at the darkness for her, but she wills herself not to let that get her down. Drawing out Logan is obviously what Creed wants anyway, and SHIELD, and the X-Men, would like to know why before giving him exactly what he wants.

And spending more time with Natasha is always great. Darcy knows it's not just friendship and SHIELD loyalty that has Black Widow so anxious to be her bodyguard (when other duties allow), though those are certainly factors. Natasha likes her plenty. But Darcy also knows this sticks in the assassin's craw, that a target not only slipped her grasp but is going after her turf again, taunting them even. That shit doesn't fly with the Black Widow.

"Is it really necessary to go this rough on me? I'm incubating!" Darcy groans, jogging past the three mile mark on one of SHIELD's shiny treadmills. At the machine beside her, barely breaking a sweat, Natasha just smirks.

"As I am lead to understand, from the extensive research into the subject assigned to me by Coulson, your body will bounce back faster after birth if you continue working out at the rate you maintained before conceiving," She reminds Darcy, who sighs, "Also, you'll be pushing a human being out of your body in a few months. It doesn't hurt to hedge your bets with toned muscles and heightened stamina."

"I know I know," Darcy grumbles, "...Just. Need the pep-talk now and then...hey you read anything

about how I can get my vag to bounce back as fast as the rest of me?" Natasha snorts.

"It's nowhere near as wreck-able as the world would have you believe. But yes, kegels," She grins, "Twenty of those every day and you'll have a lady-cave of steel."

"...Things I could stand to not hear," Steve sighs, passing by on his way to the boxing ring. Natasha laughs, and Darcy downright cackles.

"Heya bub, where's Beth? Thought my sister in squishy-ness would be here today."

"She, ah," Steve pauses, wrapping up his hands and glancing back at the girls across the gym, "She stayed home sick today. Ah. Morning sick." Darcy almost trips over her own sneakers.

"Wait, what?!" She looks Steve over swiftly for any sign of distress or mania. But all she gets is a wide, bashful grin as he looks at his feet, and then back up. All right, that's a healthy response. Darcy grins back, slowly, as Natasha tsks at her side. "Awesome, man."

"Yeah, you know?" He shrugs, finding his feet on the ring mat, "I'm not freaking out."

"Of course you're not," Darcy punches up her speed, "If I can handle this, Captain America sure as hell can."

"Babies." Is all Natasha can say, shaking her head. Darcy doesn't imagine the slight quirk to her lips, though. They're a few paces further when Clint swings down from somewhere above, startling everyone but Nat.

"I just got the order," Hawkeye tells her, tapping her treadmill, "Creed's been spotted in San Fran. Figured you might wanna come with," He smirks, and Natasha smiles back at him as she hops off the machine. It's that deadly smile, the one that means someone might be missing limbs in the near future.

"Aw sweetie, you know just what I like."

"...Wait, San Francisco?" Darcy stumbles again, bracing herself on the treadmill's frame, "...M-my mom..."

"Already on a flight to New York," Clint assures her, before the two assassins are leaving the gym. Darcy breathes out a sigh of relief, punching her pace down to a walk. Steve's watching her from the ring, she can tell, as she takes a long, shaky pull from her water bottle.

"...All right, Darce?"

"Yeah, yeah, just...ugh!" She suddenly growls, throwing the plastic bottle away to skitter across the floor. "What the -actual- fuck?! Sanfran, my -mother-..."

"He coulda been there for any number of reasons," Steve reminds her, oh so reasonably. Darcy sighs, shaking her head as her run ends at four miles. She steps off, flexing her shoulders and frowning harshly at the walls. The hormones weren't making her reactions any more rational either these days.

"He could, but it's one hell of a coincidence," She grumbles, wiping herself down with her towel, "The fuck's he got against Logan, that he's pulling all this?"

"From what little I saw back in the day, I can imagine any number of things," Steve replies, thoughtfully. Darcy can feel him watching as she gathers up her things, painfully aware of her shaking hands and furrowed brow, "...Darcy, he needs to know."

"No, that's what Creed wants," She huffs, "We dunno what kind of trap is set for Logan now, who this asshole might have working with him, just..." She presses the back of her hand to her brow for a long minute, "...And I still wish he was here so fuckin' bad."

Bless Steve Rogers, he doesn't push it. Just gives her a good ol' Cap-hug.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Hydra agents swarm a research site two hours upstate that very afternoon, effectively ending Darcy's self-pity hour. No one questions her swinging into the back of one of the SUVs which, she ponders, is maybe a little disconcerting. She's almost five months along now and it's pretty obvious. Perhaps her fellow agents are just well-assured of her prowess with a gun and Kevlar. And well they should be. Darcy stays back, she calls orders over the coms (because she knows the layout of all the research sites, because she once had to keep track of Jane Foster in plenty of them), and she only takes one bullet, to the arm. Which, hey, improvement!

"My poor fucking arms," She grumbles, as she's helped back into a vehicle once it's all over. "I'll be replacing 'em with adamantium before I'm 30 at this rate... Don't suppose we've gotten anyone?" It's a deflated question, because they haven't been able to keep a Hydra agent in custody for longer than five minutes. They've got an astonishingly high suicide rate, via hidden cyanide capsules. Another thing that hasn't changed in over 70 years, according to Captain America. This time, however, it seems that Odin has smiled on them.

"One!" Thor calls to her, landing in the snow before her with an unconscious agent over his shoulder. He holds up the fake tooth he knocked out of the young man's mouth proudly...along with a few real teeth. "He is otherwise unharmed, and shall perhaps prove forthcoming when he wakes," The god beams, as another SHIELD agent steps forward to lock their new prisoner up. Thor's expression suddenly drops, looking back to her, "Darcy, you're injured...!"

"Tis but a scratch...oi, Thor!" She yelps, just before she's flown up into the sky and toward the city. Honestly, for all that they were the worst sometimes, Superheroes really were the best.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Annabel Lewis was her daughter, plus fifteen years. Which, now that she was an adult, Darcy didn't find terribly fair, for all she'd been a great, if nomadic mother when she was growing up. She's especially tried really hard not to ruminate on the fact that her mom is much closer in age to her boyfriend than Darcy herself (but then again, there were tortoises in Zoos that were much closer in age to Logan). And then of course there was the flighty mess that always seemed to follow Anna around. At the moment, however, there's only one person in the world Darcy would be happier to see than her mum, hurrying into the infirmary to wrap her up in a tight hug.

"I'm -fine-," Are the first words out of Darcy's mouth, as her mother starts tsking. Under blonde highlights that Darcy would never be able to pull off, Anna looks her up and down as she's sitting on an exam table, her attention torn between her daughter's expanding midsection and the bloody bandages on her arm.

"...Well!" The former hippie manages at last, corners of her eyes crinkling as she grins, "Least you made it past 21 before you got knocked up. Gramps'd be proud." Darcy snorts, tugging her in for another, one-armed hug. She notices Rogue slipping into the room, waggling her gloved fingers at her. "...So. Working For Jane Foster Still, was that the lie you fed me last year? Am I getting it right?"

"Sure are!" Marie pipes up, getting herself a hug too as she approaches, carefully, as always.

"Marie! Look at you," Anna reaches to put her hands on her face, and of course Rogue dodges, sheepishly.

"I'm a little...different these days, Ms. Lewis."

"Of course, how'd I forget?" Anna's smile is warm, and Darcy wonders how she could have lied to the woman for so long. Oh right, for her safety. "Now, I was saying?" She gives her daughter a look, and Darcy sighs.

"I work for the government, liaising with uh, The Avengers and...well, Marie's folks. And it was safer not to tell you, until now, when my mutant baby-daddy's long-lost brother is trying to get at whoever he can," She takes a deep breath, "...I promise I was gonna tell you about the baby soon?" She tries, faking a big smile. Anna just rolls her eyes, and Darcy feels an acute amount of daughterly guilt, "I really am sorry."

"Well I know now," Anna grumbles, sitting next to Darcy on the table, glancing between the two girls, "...What's he like? And where the hell is the bastard?" Marie snickers, and Darcy groans, rubbing her forehead.

"Logan...is great. Way too old for me, but totally built, you'd approve." She smirks, "And it's a whole...had to leave to keep me safe, superhero...kind of thing..."

"Well at least he's kind of in the picture," Anna nods, accepting all this as it comes, "Lewis women pay their own bills, anyhow. Aside from the bullet-holes baby, I'm real proud of you." Darcy grins, resting her head on her sister-mom's shoulder. It had been kind of hard, once she was over sixteen, to still see her mother as so much older, wiser, in charge. And vise-versa for Annabel, Darcy was well aware. They'd pretty much been the Gilmore Girls, only without the rich grandparents and with far more visits to the principle's office. "...And now you'll have more of me than you can handle!"

"Greeeeat," Darcy lets out a long, dramatic sigh, "Please try not to steal my boyfriend when he comes back." '_If he comes back._' Anna laughs.

"Never. Though, I kinda like what I saw of your boss at the airport...Phil, right?" Darcy could not wince any harder. It was a physical impossibility.

"Just, no, mom. No."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	13. Chapter 13

((SO MANY NOTES! Okay.

For the couple of folks who've asked, no, Darcy is most certainly not having Daken (one of Logan's canonical sons, if ya don't know.). For the love of glob, he's meant to be half-Japanese, it's kind of a huge part of his character and angst. Also I'm a fan of Itsu/Wolverine, so. Perhaps in a future tale I could weave the tortured, insane lad into this canon, as I do love him, warped morals and all. But then again I'm guessing you really wouldn't want me to, because someone WOULD die in that situation. It's just what happens. Boy is become death. He's kinda like his uncle/grandfather/whichever canon for Victor you accept that way.

...I will admit though, he and Logan's most recent storyline has left me awash in depressed, broken feels that may have leaked into this plot, guilty. Dakeeeeen ;_;

My understanding of traditional sword-making is rough, though I feel I do have a good resource for the basics in a good friend from Kyoto. Who also corrects my Japanese on a regular basis. Also, her response to a question from an Australian about the Suicide Forest at Fuji-san is real, and included in this chapter with her permission. Also, I'm all around just really proud of this chapter.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy gets her Valentine late this year, but finds herself not minding much at all. It wasn't like she was expecting one in the first place anyway. Romantic thy name is most certainly not Wolverine. But one does indeed arrive, and it's an evening at the end of February when the small package arrives at her apartment, postmarked from Japan. Having come home from work and gathered up her mail, she feels a tightness in her chest when she finally gets upstairs and tears away the cardboard and packing peanuts to reveal a small box, wrapped in paper printed with a native Hokkaido character.

"What is it?" Jubilee asks, tilting her head as Darcy peels away the paper, squinting at the pattern. "It looks like a panda, but backwards-colored."

"He's Danpa...kind of the mascot of Sapporo. And I only know this because we saw a girl in Vancouver once who had him tattooed on her arm." Darcy smirks at the memory, shaking the small box gently, "Logan was very amused." She opens the gift and draws out a small, blown-glass figurine, and finds herself swallowing hard.

No, Logan wasn't much of a romantic, not at all. But when he did spot something that reminded him of her, it was always in the best way and this is no exception. It's a lithe, swift-looking little grey wolf standing in snow, with a cute little cub sniffing at her feet. Jubes, who's visiting for the weekend, squeals in her ear, but Darcy herself just wipes at her eyes, runs a finger over the pretty glass lady-wolf, and sets her to rest on a window sil.

"No note, I see," Annabel pipes up from the kitchen. Smirking, Darcy shakes her head, shucking off her suit coat and keeping her eyes on the figurine.

"The day Logan writes a love note to me, I'll be looking out the window for flying bacon," Nope, nothing was ruining the high such a little thing had given her. He was all right, he was out there, and he was thinking of her. The dumb smile is firmly in place as Darcy gratefully flops back onto the couch, kicking off her heels and happily unzipping her skirt. That's about when Jubilee squints, eyes intent on her arm, now visible in her short-sleeved office blouse.

"You took your bandages off," She points out, hopping up onto the couch, running a hand over Darcy's most recent gunshot wound.

"Suppose I did..." Darcy looks down, blinking a few times. The stitches had been taken out some days ago, and now...well, the wound looked old. Older than it should. Darcy frowns as she realizes this. It looked as old as the one in her leg. "Huh, that's weird..."

"...It's more than weird," Her mom suddenly pipes up, now standing in the living room to frown at her daughter as well. Darcy blinks at her. Annabel blinks back. Then she pulls out her cell phone, flipping back through her pictures. "I'm sorry honey, but I could swear...oh crap, look," She holds out her phone, and Darcy takes it in her hand, wondering what kind of fluke she was experiencing. And then she gasps.

It's a shot of her from when her mom first arrived in New York, Darcy smiling for the camera next to Marie. The scars on her face are in sharp contrast with her pale skin, as they'd always been. Darcy hastily flips on the mirror app on her mom's phone, looking at herself. The scar splitting her lip was splitting it no less. But the redness, the unevenness, had all faded more in two weeks than they had in five months. "...The hell does it mean?" Darcy breathes. Annabel shakes her head, but Jubilee grins, biting her lip.

"...Might be the mutant baby you're cultivating in your guts." She suggests, and Darcy's jaw goes slack for a moment.

"...But, how...?"

"Sometimes people are born with certain mutations," Jubilee reminds her, still grinning, "You don't know if Logan had his healing gene as a kid, nobody does. Maybe the kiddo's got it too, and you're getting some of the perks?"

"There are so many things questionable about that statement," Darcy blinks rapidly, resting a hand on her rounded stomach. In that moment, her baby decides to do a somersault under her touch, and she gasps. "...Holy shit, it's alive."

"Oooo, let me!" Annabel squeals, reaching out. Darcy just feels herself blanking out a little, staring at the wall. The little bugger was moving, and it might just be fixing her wounds, too. Well.

"...I need to make an appointment with Jean...oh, holy fuck, what if it's got claws already?!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

Natasha's watching the perimeter, Jubilee is bouncing around the room unhelpfully, and Rogue and Annabel are each holding Darcy's hands while Jean Gray pokes around in her blood and uterus, and takes a couple of X-Rays. "It's safe," She assures them, before anyone can ask, "It's very low levels of radiation, women get prenatal X-Rays all the time...and if our theories about that healing mutation are correct, you've got even less to worry about," She smirks, but Darcy can't quiet relax or make jokes, not yet.

Not until all the tests are done at least, and Jean's hopping up to sit on the exam bed to talk to her like another girlfriend would. She shuffles through the test results, new ultrasound pictures and X-Rays, giving Darcy a grin, "So, first good news: No claws. At least, not yet." She hands Darcy the X-Ray film, and the girl heaves a sigh of relief looking at it, even as she smiles at the image.

"Fuck, that's creepy," She chuckles, eying her fetus' developing skeleton, her own bones visible on the edges of the film, "...Yanno how some people frame their kid's first ultrasound picture? Screw that, this is the one that's going over the crib. My little Skele-baby!" Rogue snorts, and Annabel just rolls her eyes. Jean laughs along with her, though, and Darcy thinks that she might very well get along with this lady more and more.

"Next good news, it does look like the baby's got Logan's healing factor already," Jean goes on, tilting her head, "It's not a stretch to think that you'd benefit from it while he's growing inside of you. The two of you already share so much. Nutrients, a heart-beat..." Darcy's head snaps up suddenly, eyes widening, head caught on one thing.

"...He?"

Jean's grin returns, handing her an ultrasound shot, "I know how bad you are at deciphering these things, so I ah, circled certain bits."

"...Hell yeah you did," Darcy gulps, her smile threatening to bust her face. There was her boy, doing a spread-eagle for the camera. Typical. She busts out in giggles, shaking her head, covering her mouth with a hand as tears threaten to spill over. It's just so real in this moment, more real than it's ever been. Her baby's a he."...The hell?! I'm crying. Why am I...umph!" She's cut off, between her mother hugging her and Jean flailing at her overflowing eyes.

"...You know, all these baby-feelings are kind of a terrible temptation to an innocent, impressionable young thing such as myself," Jubilee points out, wiping at her own eyes, "Go back to being pissed, like right now."

"...Jubes, if you get yourself knocked up, I'm throwing my kid at your head, I swear to Thor..."

"That's better!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

Interrogations are slippery things. Natasha has known this for many years now, though the knowledge never really prepares one for each individual and their nearly-unique ticks. And so she only watches for the first week as the Hydra agent they've got in custody refuses food and water, and refuses to speak. She, and SHIELD, are right in thinking that suicide is painless for these people only when it's a quick crunch in their mouths, at least that's what she thinks when the agent finally breaks at around day four, and tears into his rations like a man possessed.

He still does not talk. Natasha doesn't press though, not yet. She lets the green agents test themselves against him first, a good learning experience even if they do not get anywhere. Meanwhile, Black Widow is pacing like a cat in front of the two-way mirrors, studying the target, his ticks and habits and tells, when she's not busy trailing Darcy Lewis.

Darcy!

Dammit all.

Natasha doesn't deny it, she wants in on both fronts. She likes the young liaison, no question. Darcy is strong and snarky and they have indeed become friends. But there's also a burning fire under Nat's skin to get to Victor Fucking Creed. The man who escaped her custody a year ago by faking his own death. Clint has teased her about it, the only person who can really get away with it, telling her that she's taken a hit to the ego in true dude-style. Tasha just grins. She's all right with that assessment. Because it's more true to her character than all these protective things she's feeling.

Honestly, she thinks it's ridiculous. That people on her team are procreating, taking that kind of risk in this upsetting world. She entered into the program in the Soviet Union, originally, so that her family would never be touched by the kinds of horrors she faces on a regular basis. And now she has people whom she otherwise admires making babies, making families while they're right in the line of fire. Mind, all right, Darcy Lewis had been taken by surprise between antibiotics and Wolverine's persistent genetics. But she'd had her options out. And Cap certainly hadn't been ill-informed when he knocked up his wife.

But even with all her strong feelings on this, Natasha does love them. Fuck it all, she does, she loves. She's accepted that certain folk at SHIELD, folk within the Avengers, have become her family. And you love your family, you take care of them, you protect them. So no, she might not approve of all their choices at present. She might rest on the easy explanation of a wounded ego when it came to Creed, to Hydra, but they -are- her family. A woman protects her family in any way she can. And those untimely kids Steve and Darcy and Wolverine are having, well, they'll be her family too.

So it's interesting for Black Widow, how these things she doesn't automatically approve of are affecting her method. It's not until after Darcy's had the gender of her child confirmed that Natasha sways into the cell, cocking her head to one side, reveling in the discomfort of her target. The build-up has been effective. He's been dreading the appearance of the Widow, or the Hawk. Finally seeing her in person nearly has the young Hydra agent pissing his pants, she can smell it on him.

"So, Henrich," Natasha smiles, sitting down across from him. The sweat is falling in thick drops now. "Are you really this loyal to Hydra, or are our rations that good?"

"You'll get nothing from me," The boy gulps, and Natasha just tilts her head to the side, inspecting him.

"You know, I've heard that one before, funnily enough," She rises, moving around to stand at his side, yawning, "Thing is, though? After three weeks in here? We've got pretty much everything on you," She notes him sitting up straighter, and already knows she's won. "Which Hydra has too, no doubt. Family, little cousins...everyone you tried to buy a better life for by joining the institution..." Natasha tilts his chin up to look at her, a gloved finger to his skin, "I did the same thing once, Henrich. You know what the big lie of it all is, though?"

The young man shakes his head, licking his lips, shaking from head to toe now. Natasha smiles.

"They'll kill them anyway." She tells him, flatly. "We won't. Now, where is Hydra operating out of?"

"You'll not find them," When he answers this time, though, Natasha hears no blind devotion in his voice. Only resigned terror, his eyes wide, "They're shielding themselves. A living shield..." He presses his eyes closed, hard, shuddering, "...I only know the bases I saw myself. I never saw who was leading, or from where, I just...I just heard. A human shield."

Natasha turns that bit of intel over and over in her mind, but she doesn't let anything show on her face. She only smiles again, briefly, seeing the truth all over the young, scared agent's face. "Thank you Henrich, you've been very helpful." She runs what's supposed to be a comforting hand over his hair, "I'll see what SHIELD can do about relocating those parents, sisters, and little cousin of yours."

He slumps, relieved in his seat as she leaves the room, her expression gone hard. A human shield? A human shielding them...from someone like The Professor. Shielded from Cerebro like Creed seemed to be.

A human...

A mutant. A mutant human shielding them.

Natasha's boots beat out a slightly faster pace.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"No," The old man shakes his head, turning over the folded steel. Logan lets out a rough growl, tossing the weapon aside to clatter loudly against the floor of the forge, but is met with only a bland, unimpressed expression from his sensei. "This, you call control?"

Logan's impressed with himself, that he doesn't bust out with a Star Wars reference. Darcy would be so proud, on both counts. Mind, he's been to Japan before many times in memory, though then only as a traveler. He knows the bare bones of the social rules, the ways to treat elders, etc, but only in passing. Now, he's been living with this man who once gave him shelter. Now, he's under his instruction, and the relationship has changed entirely. His slightest disrespect is noted, his slightest loss of control.

And so Logan presses his lips together, dipping his head low, before turning and gathering up the rejected steel. Back into the forge it goes, hissing and hot, stoking the fire sending beads of sweat to pepper his form. Sensei smiles, motioning with an age-curled hand for the younger (in form, at least) man to continue his work. Heaving a sigh, shutting his eyes and channeling his rage into his arm, his focus, his designs, Logan begins hammering the steel all over again.

He's been doing this for three weeks now, but that's barely any time at all in the grand scheme of things, in the time-line of Japanese perfection. Of sword-making, steel-bending, of becoming a better man.

"Discipline, focus, putting your harsher instincts into your work." Sensei had said, "These are what make a man. These are the things that cultivate honor, cultivate inner peace and fulfillment."

"Yeah?" Logan had snarked right back in one of his more petulant moods, "Then why does your country have a fucking suicide forest?" A deeply offensive question, to ask of a Japanese elder. But his sensei had simply leveled a look at the mutant, before replying, at length.

"Those countrymen of mine who end their lives are so notable, so few, as to have a forest at the foot of our most sacred mountain," He'd told Logan, "What do your countrymen have? Bridges, jails, guns...?" A lofted white brow, and Logan had huffed, returning to his work. He might have mumbled under his breath 'I'm a Canadian', though.

And so he hammers steel, taking every criticism, every blunt assessment of his work into his being. Logan has seen the marbled, classic steel his sensei forged in his youth. He's seen near-perfection, held it in his hands, practiced with it in the forest above bustling Sapporo. He knows that his anger, his rage is meant to be channeled into those blades, and thus, into whatever challenge may face him in the future. It is not to be let loose, let free to wander his person, as it has for so many years. And as such, Logan does know the importance of his work at the forge, he does. It's not simply swords Sensei has forged for so many years. They are the tools of men with much to channel into their battles.

Channeling, making his rage productive, these are his top priorities. Because simply denying them won't work. For one, Logan will never not be that rage-fueled, feral thing. It's in his blood, his mutation, and this old man has taught him that. He cannot deny it. His child will be the same, if he or she is like him. For so long, Logan has treated it as a thing to be ashamed of, a thing to chain like a dog until a good fight shows up. But that is not what it is, what he is. Everything he is has a purpose. If he ever leaves Japan knowing only one thing, that will be it: Nothing about him is pointless. It must simply be honed. Channeled, not chained.

If he can do that...he'll be right for his kid. He'll be right in the world. And, if she'll still have him, he'll be right for Darcy. And so, Logan hammers steel.

It's the beginning of March when the small forge in the mountains of Hokkaido has a visitor. Sensei is away catching his crabs to sell, and Logan is busy at the forge when the foreigner approaches the small house and adjoining outhouses, leaving deep prints in the heavy snow outside. Logan's senses twitch, a scent touching his nose as the tall figure leans in the wide doorway, picking at a sheepskin jacket. Wolverine rises slowly, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, glancing over his shoulder with a frown.

"Rogers." Logan nods, "The hell are you doing out this way, bub?" In his periphery, he sees Captain America roll his eyes, sighing.

"Save it," Steve replies, surprising Logan somewhat, "I'm here 'cause there's some stuff going on back home that you need to know about..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	14. Chapter 14

((Natasha/Darcy is my Brotp.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 14

.

.

.

.

"I don't get to bring good things into this world. Only suffering. And this world's a better place without that."

-Wolverine, _Father_

.

.

.

.

.

.

"My half-brother." Logan repeats, eyes fixed somewhere off into the trees. It's snowing again, the air getting ever colder as the afternoon gets old, but neither of the men sitting out in it really notice. Steve Rogers maybe shivers now and then, but Logan figures Cap is entitled to be a little gun-shy of ice and snow. As for Logan, he -is- feeling a little numb right now, but it's nothing to do with the cold. For the first time in a few weeks, he draws a cigar from his jacket and lights it with an only slightly unsteady hand. His control, he knows, will only last so long, and so instead of feeding the panic in his chest, the fear for Darcy, he draws in a deep, smoky breath and asks, "...Any particular reason why you aint spoken up about this in the last year?"

"I didn't really put the two together, that he was -that- Victor, until recently..."

"But y'knew my real name," Logan points out, sharply. Steve sighs, shaking his head.

"Yeah...I uh, wasn't gonna do you any favors until I was sure you weren't gonna break Darcy's heart?" He tries, and all right, Logan does crack the smallest of smirks at that. "I really did think it was your own business, what you did and didn't want to know..." He looks Logan in the eye then, "You could have asked too, you know. You had to guess we shared some history?"

Logan sighs, nodding after a moment. Yeah, the thought had crossed his mind more than once, either on his own or by the passing comments made by people they both knew. Everyone seemed to know that Logan had been another attempt to recreate Captain America. He'd known that Steve felt enough guilt over Bruce, so, thinking he might know about Logan... "Maybe I didn't want to know." He murmurs, "Maybe life had finally gotten good, life had...given me her. And if anything, pokin' around in my past aint never brought anything but hurt to those around me..." He stumbles over that statement, though. Suddenly he's on his feet again, the claws are out, and Logan's turning the nearby woodpile into so much kindling, snarling into the cold.

To his credit, Rogers doesn't try to stop him. Maybe he's impressed by the human wood-chipper.

And Logan doesn't stop, not until his hands are bleeding and he's heaving on his own breath. It's the worst kind of fucking irony, he thinks, resting his bloody fists on the chopping block. "...I left to keep them safe," He breathes, "I left her with you."

"And we're keeping a close eye on Darcy," Steve's quick to tell him, "Widow's watching her almost constantly. No one's seen Victor in New York since he spoke to her in the street..." Steve hesitates, "...We do think he might be working with Hydra, though. Or is under their employ somehow, your man Xavier thinks his erratic signals are shielded by the same source. What...ever the hell that means. He's out of our sight, anyway." Ah, bless Cap for trying.

"...So," Logan shakes himself, standing upright and wiping at his forehead, growling low in his throat. "He's my brother. Any idea what I did to get on his shit list? Jubie last year, Darcy now, all to get at me..."

"I don't," Cap tells him honestly. "I barely knew James Howlett a day. Though..." He squints, thinking, "...Victor did seem to be real competitive. Didn't much like that you outranked him..."

That sparks the quickest flashes of a memory, for Logan. Two boys, one always stronger, but the younger always favored. It's gone as quickly as it occurs to him, and he's pressing his palms into his eyes, against the pain the images leave behind.

"...You know? I don't care," He decides out loud, after a moment. "I want some fuckin' peace. And maybe it is my fault she's been dragged into this, but she's in it, and I've hated myself enough over it. She'll be connected to me forever now, no matter what I do." He turns toward the house, "...I should be home."

"...I'm not so sure," Steve starts, and Logan turns on him with a growl and a fresh 'snikt'. But the soldier just raises his hands, "Only because we don't know what kind of trap you might be lured into. Think, Logan. Right now she's safe, you're safe, people are hunting him as best they can..." The claws go back in, at least, "...You go home right this second, something could come out of left field and then all three of you are dead, for all we know." Logan grumbles, but it's resigned, "...Give us time to scout out left field first."

"Reasonable," He scrubs a hand over his jaw, "...Anyone know you came?"

"Fury, 'bout all." Logan smirks, mirthlessly.

"Darce woulda told you not to, I except..." He frowns again, "...Make no secret of where you been, where you found me. Sing it from the rooftops of Manhattan if you like. If nothin' comes for me...we'll know he's got his own ground he wants to draw me onto." And Darcy sure as hell wasn't going to be anywhere near it. Captain America, the tactical, yet impulsive soldier part of him, turns this over in his head.

"It's risky. But it makes sense, for now," He agrees, nodding. "...Darcy's gonna kick my ass," He smirks. And Logan can't help but do the same.

"...Why didn't you tell anyone? Why come at all, if I shouldn't be home yet?" Wolverine finds himself asking. Steve looks thoughtful again, glancing away and into the woods.

"Someone was after my family," He answers at last, "I'd want to know. Even if I couldn't do anything about it. And, maybe..." Steve pauses again, "...Hell, I can't imagine having a kid, and not having any history to pass onto them."

"Softie," Logan grunts, but there's a light to his eyes again. "...Maybe when this is all over, you can help me dig, Captain."

"...be honored to, Lieutenant."

.

.

.

.

.

.

"I'm gonna kill him," Darcy grumbles, resting her forehead on her hands. On the other side of her desk, Natasha smirks.

"It's been an effective move," The spy points out, tilting her head, "If Creed moves Logan's way, we'll know. Steve was...uncommonly thoughtful in his movements." Darcy doesn't miss the jab at Steve's often sledgehammer-esque approach to fighting the bad guys, smirking to herself as she finally heaves herself up from her computer chair, gathering up her things for the evening. "Even if he did inadvertently meddle in your love life like a bored middle-aged cat lady."

"Jeez, burn more Flame Princess," Darcy chuckles, tugging on her coat. Which once was cute on her, and waist-cinching, and now, at over five months pregnant, won't even button. One of the many reasons she's tugging a master assassin out to the nearest thrift store. Or so she thinks.

"No." Natasha tells her, flatly, when Darcy starts searching on her phone for second-hand shops nearby. "Your child might be untimely, but that's no reason to subject him to mothballs. You make more than decent paychecks, and you will shop Madison Avenue for maternity clothes if I have to force you there at gun point."

"...Goddamn, well, all right."

"You wanted a girly shopping partner, you'd have been better to ask Marie. Or your mother."

"Ehh, mom would end up buying a ton of stuff for herself on my bill, and be generally unhelpful," Darcy tells her as they hop in a SHIELD SUV, "And Marie's got a date with Bruce tonight, also rendering her unhelpful."

"That's on again, then." Nat presses her lips together. Darcy sighs.

"Yes, it is," She nods, as their driver pulls up in front of some shiny maternity boutique with Heidi Klum and Angelina Jolie's faces on all the adverts, "She's figuring her priorities out, cut the kid some slack."

"I would," Natasha replies, offering her an arm out of the vehicle, her eyes darting all over the street as she does. Darcy does have to admit, it's kind of cool having the woman check the perimeters. Like her own personal secret service, "...If she were not reducing one of the grown men on my team...the oldest, even, after Tony...to a mooning child."

"Is she?" Darcy bites her lip as they enter the store, heading straight for the cute, ruched dresses. Form-fitting -and- belly-accentuating, score! "I mean, I know he really likes her, and he brings me my herbal tea like a gent, but he doesn't exactly share much with me...neither does she," Darcy frowns, mid-way between contemplating how a leopard number would look under one of her vintage suit jackets. No, she would never, ever stop wearing clothes with history, thank you very much. Darcy Lewis armored herself with dead souls, never forget it, "...She's my best friend but her own feelings aren't always up for grabs, either."

"I've got the team to think of, is all," Natasha sighs, pausing, plucking out an honest to god, pre-worn, maternity Patti Smith tee and tossing it Darcy's way, "On the one hand he's a grown man who understands that she's much younger, and he made his choice to get involved with her. On the other, he's downright useless when she's gone," A grumble, and then she's cooing over a plaid pencil skirt, also tossing it into Darcy's arms, "I have to keep these variables in mind."

"I understand," Darcy bites her lip, adding a wine-colored coat to the pile in her arms, and then heading for the dressing rooms. "I'll talk at her, though I can't actually promise anything. Ugh," She groans, as she slips into a fitting room, "These mirrors are fucking unforgiving."

"Welcome to shopping at stores that actually -have- fitting rooms," Natasha smirks.

.

.

.

.

.

.

There's this horrible sense of impending doom that lingers for a while, and then it just kinda...dissipates. Darcy finds herself waiting for the worst kind of news, about Logan, about herself and her own safety. And then, when the worst doesn't happen, she's pacing, flexing her fingers, waiting for something to explode. But then it doesn't. And then she's left at home, with her mom, her best friend, and a really bored assassin somewhere outside her apartment building, waiting for something monumental to happen.

It's a fucking pain in the ass.

Especially when she knows that Logan knows. That he's out there waiting too, that he knows someone's after her, and he's not coming home to her yet. Darcy understands how this works, she knows that he's worried, that he doesn't trust himself with her squishy, knocked up, non-super self again, not yet. And she knows this is the plan too, waiting to see whom Creed comes after first. Thing is, he doesn't come after -anyone- at present, leaving Darcy, at least, bored and ornery.

And fuck, it's been hard enough. It's hard enough knowing he's out there, wanting her. Darcy's gotten herself around to talk with Cap, and with Beth between them to keep her from hitting him first, she got out of him that Logan misses her, is doing all this for her, is trying to be better for her, somewhere out there in Japan. That helps, but he's still...far away, removed, and hard to feel a connection to sometimes. She catches herself just staring at that little glass wolf he sent her, willing clarity into her head that never comes.

But then again, maybe Darcy's looking too deep into things. Maybe she's just got pregnant-brain on top of cabin fever on top of a towering pile of boring-work. At least, that's what she tells herself when March is dying and a whole lot of nothing has happened on either front. Even Hydra's hibernating, it seems like. And everything seems stupid, and Logan should just get over himself and come home already and rub her back because his kid -kicks- like a jerk.

Thankfully, her monotony is at least somewhat broken when New York is just starting to melt, and Professor Xavier rings her up in her office.

"I think I know which young mutant we are searching for," He tells her, "Because I cannot find her at all."

.

.

.

.

.

.

April is coming far more slowly to the mountains surrounding Sapporo, but Logan doesn't much mind. He's always been happier in the cold (save for some rather memorable moments with Darcy that past summer), the snow and wind offering a relief from the forge. He's gotten nowhere near passable at sword-making, mind, but that was never the point. Logan is welcomed strong arms at the bellows, at preparing the steel, but Sensei has grandsons who actually know this craft.

No, it's his mind he's more aware of. There's a beast he's slowly coming to terms with, letting have his place in his life. And that's saying something, given the terrifying things nagging at the back of Logan's head. He's worried about Darcy and he's restless as hell. There's nothing to fight, nothing to let out the aggression on, only the steel, the woodpile, the heavy lifting. And thank fuck all for even that much he supposes. Because Victor 'aint showing, and Logan couldn't be offering up more of an enticement. No other supes to grapple with, just the two of them, almost in the middle of nowhere.

Victor hasn't bitten, not yet.

And maybe this lack of action has Logan off his game, dulling his higher senses. He certainly berates himself for it later, when one afternoon in early April he leaves the woodpile and heads inside, to find a photo stuck on the front door. His first gut instinct when he sees the damn thing is to grin, cause there's his girl walking down a New York street, and hell, she's very pregnant. And it looks really good on her, Logan notes, leaning on an arm in the door frame and just staring at her, drinking in the image, a familiar longing curling in his chest. She's beautiful. She's healthy, she's big, and maybe she does look a little lonely, even though there's Natasha in the corner of the frame...

...It took a few seconds, fine, but the image of her had blindsided him. Now, though, Logan is standing up sharply, looking at the shot more closely. Taken discreetly, across the street from them. Natasha has eyes above, looking alert and yet completely unaware of the photographer. This was Black Fucking Widow, that woman didn't miss shit, especially when she's on mission like she is. She was on her game in this shot, and she missed their stalker. And yes, everything about the picture screams stalker, this is confirmed when he flips the photo over and sees the note scrawled there.

'_She looks almost ripe, Jimmy!_'

Logan turns, roaring towards the woods, but Victor's scent is long gone.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	15. Chapter 15

((Wherein many things happen, from fluff to hilarity to DOOM. There are perhaps two chapters and an epilogue left to this tale, thus, mysterious things will start coming together! Also, those shiny green payphones you can make overseas calls on in Japan exist, and they are the best things.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 15

.

.

.

.

.

.

New York has officially traded in its constant snow for its ever-traditional constant rain. In her green raincoat, wellies, and a belly that now barely fits under her umbrella, Darcy eats her breakfast burrito under an awning outside HQ, shifting her balance from one foot to the other. It's almost 7am and her day doesn't officially start for another ten minutes, but with only a couple of more weeks before her time off starts she's been getting to work earlier and earlier. Sure, Darcy doesn't want any loose ends left behind for her semi-useless intern to make sense of (Andrew was hopeless when it came to noticing finer details in superhero battles, for serious), but honestly the escape from boredom and constant worrying about her own safety is a huge perk of being at SHIELD Headquarters.

Her phone starts buzzing as she's licking her fingers clean. The number is a scramble, but that's not unusual when one works for SHIELD. Expecting Coulson, or possibly Fury, Darcy leans back against the building as she answers, resting a hand on her extremely active spawn, "Phil if this is you, no you're not convincing me to start maternity leave early. Mom and the future acrobat I'm incubating in here are terrible company."

"...'Fraid it's just me, darlin'."

"Logan?!" All right, so there was a pretty breathy, high-pitched tone of hysteria to that. Darcy swallows, clutching the phone and trying to calm down. It's easier when she hears him chuckling at her, the sound warm and familiar, "Laugh it up, Fuzzball. Where are you?" She glances up and down the street, starting only slightly when she sees that Natasha is suddenly at her elbow. The assassin must have noticed her excitement.

"Still here, went down to the city and grabbed a payphone," She shuts her eyes, letting out a long breath, "...S'good to hear your voice again, gorgeous."

"You have no idea..."

"I've only got a few minutes on here, Widow with you?" Darcy glances to Natasha.

"Yeah, she's almost always with me these days."

"Good. Need to tell her a few things."

"Make it snappy, Daddy-o," Darcy smirks, trying to play it cool even though she knows the rest of her body language is totally giving her away. She hands Natasha her cell with a shaky hand, wrapping her arms around herself tight, as if it'll keep her nerves from going everywhere. She's not sure if there's some rule about what a girl -should- be feeling at a moment like this. For Darcy though, just hearing him is enough to level out her equilibrium. At least for a bit. The increasingly upsetting frown on Natasha's face doesn't exactly give her warm fuzzy feelings, though.

"Inside," Nat finally tells her sharply, giving her back her phone and all but forcing her bodily toward the entrance to HQ, "Go. I've got a perimeter to re-check." Darcy protests only slightly, getting nothing more out of the assassin. When Black Widow was on mission, she tended to be of a singular mind. Instead, Darcy jams her phone back to her ear as she sweeps inside.

"You broke Natasha, how?"

"Victor's got a closer eye on you than you think, is all." She can tell he's fighting to keep his voice calm, too. Darcy knows that voice well, and can just picture his balled fists, white knuckles, the expression Logan gets when he's inwardly counting to ten. Something has him scared and violent, "You just...you stay real close to people, yeah?"

"I have been," Darcy sighs, finding a hallway that's still mostly deserted, slipping down the wall. "Promise. I've actually barely been alone in -weeks-, Logan,"

"...I'm sorry, sweetheart," His tone calms, slacking, and she can't help a little smile, "I miss you."

"Miss you, too. Apart from this whole being stalked thing, life is boring as hell without you," Darcy bites her lip, glancing out a nearby window from her spot on the floor, "...You taking care of yourself?"

"Always do. Should be takin' care of you, though."

"Damn right you should," She grins, her voice cracking a little, "...It's a boy, by the way. The baby, he's a he, and he heals like you do...my scars are almost gone. Almost makes up for all the fucking kicking he does, day in day out..."

There's a long silence on the line. Darcy can hear the far-off background noise of people walking, of a train station announcement in Japanese. She wipes at her eyes, and he finally answers, "...I'll be damned." He's grinning though, she can tell.

"...I suddenly really, really don't care what's happening," Tumbles out of her mouth, her voice hitching, "I'm not...I'm not fucking scared of anything, Logan, I just want you to come back. Come home." She gulps, her son adding his kick of agreement.

"I'm coming home soon," He promises, almost whispering, and there's just as much longing in his voice. Darcy savors the sound, "Y'know I'm only so patient."

"It's part of your charm," She wipes at her eyes again, stubbornly, "Before your unholy spawn is born?"

"It's a date," An automated voice makes some warning over the line in Japanese, but Darcy doesn't need to understand it to feel a sharp pang in her chest, "Darcy I gotta run...I love you. More...more than I'm ever good at sayin'."

"Love you too, y'hairy bastard," She replies, and is rewarded with another chuckle.

"Keep safe, darlin'. Both of ya."

The call cuts off and Darcy lets out a long sigh, left both warmed to her toes and horribly bereft. He was coming home though, and that lightened her spirits. Though she still looked to be far more depressed than she really was, due to the fact that she really couldn't get her pregnant butt back up off the floor, until Nat reappeared to give her a helping hand. Darcy really can't wait for this kid to not be in her.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Logan's fairly sure this counts as growing as a person, or something. That he'd actually waited for the rage to quell before acting, and had acted with caution instead of storming back to New York, claws out, it was certainly progress anyway. His head was still buzzing, senses alert. But warning Widow had been a weight off his mind, and Darcy's voice in his ear had been the best kind of soothing balm to his nerves. Hanging up the payphone and stepping back into the spring evening (it was finally warming a little down off the mountain...soon there'd be sakura blooming), he's mostly calm. Mostly.

A boy. She was having a boy. That puts a stupid grin back on his face for a little while, hands shoved in his pockets as he heads back to the van. Logan's pretty sure he'd be this soppy regardless of what the kid was. It's just knowing at all, that kind of makes his child that much more of a real person, a fact. Another person to be better for.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Katinka Iorga," Darcy slides the young girl's profile across Phil's desk later that day. His face is unchanging as his eyes brush over Katinka's picture, but Darcy knows her boss well by now. He's appalled at how young she is, she can tell by the way his jaw clenches, a muscle by his eye twitches. "Twelve, note the white eyes. She's a Romanian mutant who went missing almost a year ago. Her family lives in a remote village, they don't even own a phone. Her mutation is also such that she shields her own energy from others without even trying. It's why Professor Xavier didn't notice her gone at first."

"But he thinks she's the one shielding Victor Creed?" Coulson lofts a brow, and Darcy nods, biting her lip.

"She can consciously hide others, yeah. The only one he knows about who can. Professor X sent Kurt to check on the family on a hunch. They uh, weren't keen on her going to an American school like the Institute, convinced it was a scam. Probably would have saved her, cause she was kidnapped on her way to the village school. The family thought it was human trafficking, that shit happens all the time there, but," Darcy can't help but frown, "When her little sister described the man who snatched her to Kurt, it was definitely Victor. Claws, fangs and all."

"So he's convinced a child to protect him?" Phil muses, "Not difficult, when you're a bully. And if he's working with Hydra, it would explain why we've never been able to get a bead on their base or leadership...but why -would- he work for them?" Darcy realizes he's not just musing aloud, but actually asking her opinion. Frowning, she sits on the edge of his desk to give her poor back a break.

"No idea, but you can bet it'll be for his own ends and he'll turn on 'em like that as soon as he gets what he wants out of it," She snaps her fingers, "Hell, read the man's profile. Magneto, Candy, his own fucking brother he's trying to kill, Creed isn't exactly loyal to a person or a cause. Hydra can get him something, if he is working for them."

"Well-deduced, agent." Phil finally gives her a smile, "Well, we're closer than we were yesterday. That's something."

"Yeah..." Darcy glances down at Katinka's picture again, feeling a twist in her gut. "...Hey, you coming to the baby shower?" She asks at length, shaking away those weird, inconvenient maternal instincts, "Please say yes. I want more dudes there, Pepper Potts got wind of it and now I'm having an honest-to-Thor, pastel and fuckery party at the penthouse on sunday."

"...Will it get you to start leave early?"

"Phiiiiiiil..."

"Darcy, with the threat higher, I think everyone dear to you would feel safer if you weren't traveling to and from Headquarters every day, in the open."

"You're talking house-arrest," She growls, but it's without much venom. He's caught her at what should be nap-o-clock, the bastard. "...Which, I guess is kind of in my future anyway, having an infant. Fine, one week early, and you show up to balance out all the estrogen at Tony's."

"Deal. Dismissed, Agent."

.

.

.

.

.

.

All right, so the baby shower isn't actually that bad. In fact, Darcy's pretty sure Pepper Potts has been spying on her too, or maybe just talking to Natasha and Jane, because there's rock music playing, a decided lack of pastel or otherwise gender-specific decorations, and there's beer. Jubilee, Ororo and Jean all show up for the experience as well, along with the Avengers, the science geeks, a few people in suits, and of course, her mom. "Okay, now it just feels like my birthday," Darcy manages, mopping up her face as Marie helps her onto the couch, where she'll probably stay for the rest of the party. Getting up is hard work these days.

"I'm glad you approve," Pepper tells her sweetly, handing her the one half-a-pint of beer she's allowed today. "Jane's told me all about what a Viking you've been through everything. I thought you might want to celebrate that, before celebrating at all takes a backseat."

"You are truly a goddess, Ms. Potts."

And it seems like the superheroes are up for a party, too. They've had one hell of a year themselves, between Hydra not letting up and the usual random Mad Scientists and alien terrorists. The booze and the music keep up, and before long Steve and Thor are having an arm wrestling competition on Tony's marble floors, Annabel is having a try at Phil yet again, and Ororo and Widow are comparing taste in boots. Darcy just drinks it all in, grinning from the couch between Marie and Beth.

"You're getting all my hand-me-downs, by the way", Darcy notes, patting Mrs. Cap on her lightly-rounded middle. Beth laughs, shaking her head.

"I'll have to pad the tops, but thanks,"

"We should probably open presents now Sugar, before they get much rowdier," Marie notes, glancing around, a gloved hand moving idly through a certain scientists fluffy hair. Bruce is quite calmly nursing a martini by her knee, but the rest could, indeed, get rowdy.

"MINE FIRST!" Jubilee calls, vaulting over the back of the couch and landing on the floor in a spectacular heap, "...It's a layette set."

"I don't think you're supposed to tell me..."

"No, wait and see!"

It turns out to be a tattoo-print layette set. Once again, Darcy is floored by how well her aesthetics have gotten around. Or maybe everyone's just got a pretty good idea of what Logan's spawn should be swaddled in. Along with practical things (a changing table from her mom, the crib from Jane, both of which Darcy has another good cry over. Fucking hormones.), there's rock'n roll onsies, skull and crossbones bedding, and from one Phil Coulson, a bunting printed with little red maple leaves.

"This is the best day." She sighs, later, reclining into the pile of swag. It would turn out to be the last good day for a while.

.

.

.

.

.

.

It's just May, and Logan's thinking that maybe he's waited long enough. The silence is deafening, for one, maybe it is about time for him to make the next move, rise to Victor's bait and finally find out what the hell is going on. For two, Darcy's time is almost up. She's got a month to go before she pops and he'd promised to be there. And for three, he's started thinking that maybe he's got a hold on his head and how it works, at last.

If there's one thing that old man Logan befriended years ago has taught him, it's knowing his time. Understanding time, being patient for it. Neither chaining his wild urges nor indulging them, simply knowing their place. Logan sleeps peacefully through the nights lately, and has ever since admitting to himself that the past is what it is, whatever he was in it. It's the future Logan wants now, the future that's just within his grasp. He's just got to keep one vicious fucker out of his business. That's a time when he'll really let the monster in him have his day.

Knowing all that doesn't make it any easier, though, when Logan returns to the small forge in the mountains after running some of the old man's errands in town, delivering crabs, picking up some supplies. He pulls the van back up to the now-green front yard, frowning at the silence from the workshop. A few more strides toward the house, and Logan smells the blood, freshly spilled. Tearing through the building, he can smell that not all the blood is his friends'. Sensei went down swinging one of his swords, at Victor.

When he finds the body of the old man outside, Logan decides that yes, it is certainly time to go home. Because one friend is just the beginning.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"SHIELD is sending a car," Natasha tells her, snapping her phone shut, turning, "Logan's plane should be landing in JFK before long."

Darcy is trying really hard not to hyperventilate, because at this point, that might just induce labor and she'd been having false pangs all week now. It wasn't easy, though. Logan was coming home. He was -coming home-. And all right, maybe her excitement had been tempered when he'd told her what hastened the decision. His friend was dead and more attempts were sure to follow. But Darcy figures she can be forgiven for still being all keyed up.

"And Mom's already on her way to Westchester with Marie," She breathes a sigh of relief herself, texting back Annabel. It had been the plan for a while now, since the Braxton Hicks had started. Jean wanted Darcy close-by until she delivered, and the mansion was a lot safer than Darcy's apartment anyway. Having Logan on his way home just made it all even better. Except for, yanno, the ongoing threat to her life and the lives of everyone else he loved.

"Right then," Natasha gives her an actual smile then, hefting her duffle, "Let's go pick up your loser baby-daddy, Agent."

To Darcy's utmost surprise, it's her intern Andrew behind the wheel, two Starbuck's mugs at the ready. As it's after midnight, Darcy takes her usual order gratefully. It's just be herbal tea, but it tends to fool her body enough these days, "You were at the office this late?" She asks, as Natasha looks the backseat over carefully, before taking her own latte and motioning Darcy inside. Andrew shrugs.

"What can I say, I'm a pale shadow of ya, boss, gotta make up for it somehow." The kid grins, and as they pull away from the curb, Darcy's back to being borderline over-excited. Her son appears to be of the same mind, kicking away.

It starts to dawn on her, though, that something might be wrong after about twenty minutes. For one, she can't move her limbs, and the now-empty cup in her hand slips out of her grip. Natasha must have caught on as well, because as Darcy's vision blurs, she's vaguely aware of the assassin attempting to fight off whatever they've been drugged with, to no avail.

The last thing Darcy hears before she goes under is her intern, half-sobbing behind the wheel as he veers them away from their planned route to the airport, "I'm sorry, boss, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	16. Chapter 16

((Any time Darcy Lewis can quote Firefly is a good time. This is another one of those chapters I couldn't -wait- to get to. And then felt like my stupid fingers couldn't get it out the way it unfolded in my head. I hate it when that happens. But oh well, hopefully I done did good!))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 16

.

.

.

.

"Grief and joy, dollars and cents, a baby's cry and the look on her face when you blew her a kiss on a windy afternoon. Such things might be worth something, a glance, a peek, a deeper look."

- Alice Hoffman

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy comes back to herself with a sharp, painful jolt. It goes from sternum to ladyparts, and it hurts like hell. A soothing hand is at her brow, clothed in leather, and it takes a moment for her to realize that it belongs to Natasha. They're in the semi-darkness, but as the bleariness leaves her head Darcy can make out the other woman nearby, attentive and wary, pressing a cool wet cloth to her brow with her other hand, "Nat, what..."

"You're in labor," Black Widow informs her, calmly but not coldly. "They weren't as gentle as they could've been transporting you here. Your water broke a little while ago."

Darcy looks down. She's still in the big flannel shirt she'd been wearing when they left. It's one of Logan's, and long enough to cover her thighs even with her belly added to the equation, but that's all. She swallows hard, looking around, squinting into the dim light, feeling out the cool air. They're in some kind of basement or bunker. A tug of her wrist tells her that she's cuffed to a bed. She looks to Natasha...the assassin is cuffed too, hands chained in front of her. The woman should have no problem getting out of them though, if she wanted. "Why aren't you...?"

"Too risky," Natasha replies flatly, already knowing what Darcy would ask, "I've been awake for two hours now, but there's no way I could have fought my way out of their hands with you unconscious and on the cusp of birth."

"Hydra?"

"Boingo," Natasha huffs, glancing around, "They'll be down here to question you soon I expect...Darcy, listen to me," Suddenly the Russian is looking her hard in the eyes, and Darcy looks right back, attentive as hell. Because her only other option is to be scared shitless, and that won't fly. Her baby's coming a month early, they're in captivity, and she's pretty sure that no one on their side will hear them scream. She's got Natasha or she's got nothing, "You're going to have your baby, shortly. We're going to get out of here. Keep telling yourself those two things, and we'll be all right."

"But how do you kno-oh!" Darcy grits her teeth as a contraction hits. Moving quickly, Natasha rips off a glove, twists it, and offers it to her to bite down on. Which Darcy does, gratefully.

"Katinka can't shield everything," The assassin smirks, holding up her bare wrist, touching the skin there gingerly. Darcy's aware enough, through her pain, to see a vague lump under the flesh, "She shields natural energy. Not SHIELD tracking devices. I was tagged years ago. Coulson will have had my signal when I woke up, they may already have our position." All right, that does wonders for Darcy's calm. As the contraction subsides, she glances around again.

"...Katinka?"

"Yes," A child's voice answers from somewhere in the darkness. Darcy cranes her neck, struggling to look into the shadows. Yes, there's the girl, all dark hair and her school clothes, sitting cross-legged on a pillow on the concrete floor. She looks like she's concentrating hard, her white eyes intent on the far wall, her brow furrowed. "I'm here," She says in broken English, and Darcy groans.

"Where are we?"

"Upstate New York, not too far from the border," Natasha breathes, flexing her fingers in their cuffs, "It's a large house on the edge of a development up top. From what I was able to gather when I woke up, there are two more levels below us."

"...And did they just give me a fucking heavy dose, or what?"

"They gave us the same drugs," Natasha smirks, bathing her brow once more, "Confession my friend, I'm actually about thirty years older than you, and shot through with a diluted form of Captain America's serum. I burned through the drugs faster."

"...That explains some things..." Darcy trails off, as another contraction hits. This was less than optimal, to say the least...

.

.

.

.

.

.

Philip Coulson wasn't a man easily taken by surprise. When Black Widow's vitals went off the radar, while she was supposed to be picking Wolverine up from the airport, he'd merely pressed his lips together and made some calls. When the subsequent SUV was sent to gather up Logan, and the mutant had stormed into headquarters demanding to know where Darcy Lewis was, Phil had held up a hand, stating mildly that they'd know soon enough. Wolverine had put up a fuss, though not nearly as badly as Phil was prepared for. The man had clearly sorted out his head.

At any rate, it wasn't long before he had a flashing light on his screen, Black Widow awake and alert somewhere near the border. Between Logan, Clint, Cap, Hulk, and Rogue, Phil barely had to call out an order. It was a relief, when a rescue mission fell together so smoothly. It wasn't until they were off in one of Xavier's jets that Coulson allowed himself to stagger, ever so slightly, against his desk at HQ. Two of the agents he cared dearly for, and they'd been snatched out from under his nose. It wasn't his best night of work. But he'd make up for it, don't think he wouldn't.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Katinka?" Darcy called into the darkness, swallowing hard as she mentally counted the seconds between her contractions, "What did Victor say to you, to make you help him?" She asks because she needs to distract herself with something, though she truly is curious, and the poor kid looks terrified.

"He's...he's told me he'll kill my family if I don't behave," The girl gulps, biting her lip hard. As their eyes have grown adjusted to the dark, Natasha and Darcy have taken in the basement in detail. It's utilitarian in design, but filled with video game consoles, a few books, an iPod and mini-speakers. They've been treating Katinka well down here, if still like a prisoner, "So I do what they tell me to."

"Your family is -fine-," Natasha tells the girl, steadily, "The Professor has them in safe keeping...how did you come to be here? We know Victor Creed took you..."

"I was the price," Katinka responds sadly, in her broken English, "He needed me while he was healing. But then he used me to trade, when he was well."

"For what? What did he pay for?" Natasha asks harshly, even as Darcy wants to tell the little girl that she's no such thing. She's no one's bartering tool.

"Her," Katinka nods to Darcy, swallowing hard, "If he gave them me, they'd give him her."

"...Why?!" Darcy groans, as another contraction takes over. Nat takes her hand again, letting her squeeze as hard as she'd like, "I'm just...I'm liaison to the X-Men, that's fucking all!"

"She's his brother's lover," Katinka gulps, "He...nothing is more important to Victor than hurting his brother. I would hear him talking to himself, muttering over and over...Is my family...are they really safe?"

She and Natasha dissolve into Romanian for a while, but Darcy's already well and distracted. There was no way to fight someone who just wanted to hurt the person you loved, she decided. And that was a terrifying notion. If that was all Creed wanted, if he just wanted to torture Logan, for whatever reason, for the hell of it even, then the way forward was clear. If there was no reasoning with him...well, sucks to be him, she figures. Logan would gladly relieve him of his head..

It isn't Sabretooth who has her -now-, though. Maybe Hydra was going to hand her over soon. Maybe they were going to wait and see what they could get out of her first, about the labs and Headquarters, before giving her to Victor. They had to know they'd get nothing out of Natasha, but Darcy wasn't as hardened to questioning as the spy. Regardless of anyone's plans though, this baby was coming first, and Darcy busting out with a yell was proof.

God it hurt. It hurt like -hell-. There'd been such plans, too. She'd give birth in a stupor under Jean Grey's supervision, suped up on painkillers, cause drugs sure weren't going to hurt her mutant baby. And at full term. This was quite the opposite. Cuffed to a bed, not a pill in sight, and with only Black Widow as her midwife as the kid arrived early. The contractions are coming closer now, and Darcy scrambles for Natasha's hand.

"They're getting closer together, wonderful," Natasha licks her lips, thinking hard as she sees Darcy's distress, "...Alright, I'm getting out of these cuffs now. But that means from here on out, I'll be pulling some risky stuff. Ready?"

"So ready."

"Right then." Natasha takes a long breath, slipping out of her binds in the blink of an eye, and then calling up toward the ceiling, "This woman needs water!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

Logan had been prepared for an entirely different sort of homecoming. It was supposed to be Darcy running at him in the airport and dragging him back to Westchester, baby in the belly and lips firmly attached to his. He'd take over keeping her and the kid safe and savor slitting Victor's throat when the time came. So maybe the universe can forgive him for being more than a little pissed when he finds out she's been kidnapped instead.

And yes, it does throw a wrench in his calm, but in this case it's not necessarily in a bad way. This is what all that hard work away from everyone had been for, knowing when to let the animal out. He channels the rage bubbling up in his chest, reigning it in until they're in the X-jet, he's suited up, and they're flying toward Black Widow's beacon.

"Good to see you, Logan." Ororo tells him from the cockpit. She doesn't seem to expect a response though, which he appreciates, head in his hands and focus fixed on his breathing. Storm was a good friend like that.

"We've got satellite images up," Agent Hill is saying, tapping away at her SHIELD tech, "Now that we've got a location we can scan...oh god, they've practically got an armory hidden in a residential area..." The talk dissolves into strategy and plans of attack, as both teams realize that not only do they have Darcy and Black Widow, they've very likely got the main Hydra outpost, at least for this area. More of the team is called in, at some point Tony Stark's voice sassing over the coms about how he was missing the party. Logan's of one mind, though.

Point him at what to kill, and he'll kill 'em until they've won.

"Like everyone to remember," He finally speaks up, in a heavy growl, "S'my family down there. Either of 'em get in the crossfire, someone's getting' claws in a place that won't grow back." Cap grins wide in response.

"Roger that, Lieutenant."

.

.

.

.

.

.

The lights are on in the bunker now. Katinka is curled up by the head of the bed, having taken over brow-mopping duties while Natasha Romanov talks Darcy through her breathing. Also, there's a Hydra grunt with a broken neck stuffed under the bed, and Darcy's uncuffed and has his handgun. "How long before they notice him missing, you think?" She asks, heavily, trying really, really hard to stay calm and collected. This kid was coming, stuck in an evil lair or not.

"Hard to say," Nat says, worrying her bottom lip as she's faced with Darcy's rapidly progressing cervix. It's the most out of her element Darcy's ever seen her, but even so, the woman is a brick, "But I also know SHIELD response time. If they're not already on their way..." She trails off as another contraction hits, "...shit, I think it's time to push."

"Awesome," Darcy gasps, as above them, suddenly, they hear jackboots thumping and orders being shouted. "...Cavalry's here?!"

"Let's freakin' hope so...oh-okay, now, push!"

Biting down hard on Widow's glove, Darcy pushes. She doesn't want to. There's this sudden surge of maternal instincts, and her irrational side doesn't want her baby out of her, not here, not now. But there's also her body telling her that she's got no choice. And logically she knows that, unsafe as they were, outside of her he's got a better chance. So even though it's just about the worst pain she's ever felt (which, considering she's been shot and skewered in the recent past, is saying something), Darcy lets out a snarl to do Logan proud, and she fucking pushes.

And when three Hydra agents file downstairs, guns drawn and shouting commands about moving them deeper into the bunker, Darcy fires off a few rounds and has them on the ground before Natasha even moves. The spy gives her a brilliant, approving grin.

"No power in the 'verse, baby. URGH!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

There's no time to secure the neighborhood beforehand, Hydra aware of their approach and the whole house seeming to come alive with black-clothed figures behind the windows. It's still dark out, however, and the house is well back from the others. Logan supposed they can just hope and pray folks stay in bed when they hear gunfire. Or maybe SHIELD has people to handle that part of the job, who knows. Frankly, it's not his problem. Wolverine is front lines, Cap and Stark on either side of him. One with shield up, the other in armor, and himself as the exposed berserker. Well...one of them. It's kinda nice to have Hulk taking bullets along with him, Logan's gotta admit.

Storm's above, doing her thing. Distantly, he realizes that the thunder storm she's brewing might very well hide the gunshots from the civies. Logan's in his haze now, though, tearing the first wave of agents' flesh into so many ribbons, their bullets peppering bloody, ineffectual holes in his black leather. The house is spartan in décor...a front, smelling cleaner than a hotel room. Agents are swarming out from the walls though, it seems like.

"Definitely more than one way downstairs," Iron Man's voice issues from under his helmet. "Aaaand they're rolling out the big guns, swell!"

"Nothin' I can't take," Wolverine growls, yanking his claws out of a Hydra skull. Sure enough, the thicker soldiers are coming up from the depths with their damned plasma rifles that had a habit of wrecking havoc with tech and armor alike. Tony backs off, palm raised as he slips behind Cap and Logan.

"Wolvie?"

"M'pleasure," Logan grins, diving in and barely feeling the plasma burns on his skin as he tears the line of agents in front of them apart.

It goes quickly in their favor, after that. They had surprise on their side. And Hydra's suddenly got two very united teams on their hands, a bloody mess soon all that's left after Logan's rage goes white-hot. It takes him a few minutes to come down. When he does, it's to see that Marie has two leader-type looking agents twitching and helpless on the ground with one bare hand, while she brings the Hulk back down with the other. Huh, that was something. Clint and Cap are inspecting the walls, Tony's whistling over the weapons, and Logan...

...Logan hears an infant squalling from somewhere below. "...Here!" He snarls, striding toward a wall after a moment of sniffing, banging a fist until the hidden stairway reveals itself.

.

.

.

.

.

.

There are four more bodies added to the floor before Darcy's baby finally comes into the world, flailing his limbs and squalling at the sheer indignity of the whole birthing process. A flash of the blade tucked into her boot and Natasha has the cord cut, wiping the poor kid down vigorously with a towel Katinka had found for her. "I'll be damned, he looks full term...screams like he's full term, too!"

"S'cause he's a feisty lil' mutant, isn't he? Aren't you?" Darcy croons, exhausted and feeling like she'd just been steam-rolled by the Hulk. Still, she makes grabbyhands at her son. Natasha bundles him up in one of the t-shirts from Darcy's duffle (Andrew had lived just long enough to carry in their stuff, Nat told her. And then he'd been shot through the head by a Hydra goon. Poor, black-mailed Andrew, only not really), and hands him over gingerly, as if holding babies is not something Nat preferred doing. Darcy's pretty sure it isn't.

The boy calms almost instantly at her chest, making little snuffling noises and burrowing his face into Logan's flannel. Darcy swallows hard, looking down at him, at his feathery thatch of dark hair, red face, tiny fists. Not that she hadn't felt plenty of maternal things up to this point but, well, whatever was missing in her heart, in her head, falls into place in this moment. There he was. And she'd do fucking anything for him.

"The guns stopped," Katinka's small voice brings her out of her daze, and Darcy's aware again of their surroundings, their prison, how much everything below her waist hurts. She's also aware that yup, everything's quiet upstairs. The door up there bangs open suddenly, and with one hand on her baby, Darcy's got her gun up again and aimed at the stairs, arm wavering a little. At her feet, Natasha's aim is much more steady.

"S'just me!" Logan calls when he's in view, and Darcy's arm drops in relief. He takes one look around at the carnage, at Natasha and her bloody hands, a little girl cowering behind her, and then, finally, his gaze falls on Darcy. Gun in one hand, their kid in the other. He can't help it, he busts out in the biggest grin, "...Promised I'd be here, didn't I?"

Darcy snorts, dropping her gun and half-grinning, half-wincing in pain, "Hell yeah you did. Get over here, Wolvie."

And he does. He's got a bloody hand in her hair and he's kissing her hard and slow, and then he's pressing his forehead to the exhausted little infant on her chest, breathing in deep the scent of both of them, eyes shut. And it doesn't matter to Darcy how it happened or how much everything hurts, at least not for those few long moments.

Those moments are perfect.

Everything's perfect, for the present.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	17. Chapter 17

((Victor is why we can't have nice things. Indulge me with all the fluff, but my second-biggest OTP has been apart for five months.

Also, spot the not-so-subtle Deadpool dig.))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 17

.

.

.

.

"I despise my humanity, as much as you cherish yours. And I will come for you without mercy."

Victor Creed

.

.

"You're the train that crashed my heart,

You're the glitter in the dark..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

They're barely ever parted from each other, after that. Darcy gets shot full of blessed painkillers on the flight back to Westchester, happily passing out in Logan's arms and not waking up until Jean Grey is clearing her back at the mansion. Their baby is deemed more than healthy, his small body already well making up for being born early. He's a resilient little guy, who seems quite all right with his mother being groggy and half-asleep as she nurses him for the first time, tucked into bed in Logan's rooms, at his insistence.

"You're gonna regret this," Darcy grins, bathed, stitched up, and dressed in comfy sweats stamped with the Institute's logo. "I hear that babies have this annoying little habit of waking up every few hours for the milk train." Logan just grins, like he's been doing a whole lot of ever since the rescue ops, shaking his head.

"Only need so much sleep anyway darlin', and I'm not lettin' you out of my sight." He tells her, settling onto the bed beside her, sliding an arm over her shoulders and giving the kid the eyebrow, "...He needs a name, I reckon."

"I know," Darcy bites her lip, "I've kind of been waiting until you came home to commit to one. Got any you're already attached to?" Logan shrugs, eying his son closely as he has his dinner.

"Some come to mind...you?"

"I kind of always liked the name Gabriel," Darcy snorts, smirking, "Maybe a bit too angelic for any spawn of ours, though."

"Maybe," Logan chuckles. "...He's prettier'n any kid of mine should be, prolly cause of you. But he doesn't look like a Gabriel, nah."

"I knew a kid in middle school, kinda liked the meaning of his name," Darcy muses, "It meant 'A Wanderer'. Name was Wade..."

"Hell no."

"Oooo-oh-kay then," She giggles, "...What about James?"

"Mmm?" Logan blinks a few times, looking her in the eye. Darcy shrugs, looking down.

"I just...I feel like, even knowing your past, your real name? You're still Logan to me. Probably to you too," Her eyes flutter up to his again, and he licks his lips, nodding, "But...seems like there could still be a James Howlett in the world, you know?"

"Yeah..." He murmurs, brushing a big finger over his son's head, "...Yeah, I like that notion. Let's make his middle name Alexander, though."

"...James Alexander Howlett? Sounds nice," Darcy grins, reaching up and running a hand along his scruff,"Why Alexander?"

"S'just..." He hesitates, working his jaw a few times, eyes moving between her and their son, "Kinda has the same meanin' to it, as a Japanese name. Daisuke, 'a great helper'..." He trails off. Darcy doesn't need to know any more, though, just slips her hands into his, linking their fingers together.

"I love it," She murmurs, looking down, noting that the baby had fallen asleep at his dinner. Grinning, she carefully pulls him away from her chest and hands him off to Logan, "Course, this -will- make him a Junior."

"Every man's got his cross t'bear," Logan chuckles, holding the infant close to his chest, marveling at how something so tiny could have so much in him. Healing, on top of everything from the both of them, messed up as they were. James was still perfect, somehow. "Poor lil' guy, he does look like me, doesn't he? Got your lips, though."

"He's not even a day old, he's barely looks like anyone," Darcy grins, watching him stand up and gently lay his son down in the crib Kurt had dusted off and bamf'd up to them from another room. Sometimes homeless mutants came in all ages, Darcy had been told. All her new things for the baby were still back in the city, in the extra bedroom that was now a nursery. That was another conversation that would have to happen soon. Living apart was now kind of a huge inconvenience. But that talk could wait until later. Right now, Darcy's enjoying some pretty ovary-melting visuals, involving a shirtless Wolverine tucking in an infant.

God she's missed him. She'd forgotten just how much, until now. Both in that aching place in her heart, and that empty place at her side, which he fills presently, crawling back into bed and carefully pulling her to his chest, pressing his face into her hair and breathing deep. Her scruffy, grumpy lug, with his big arms and big hands and the way he holds onto her just a bit too tightly, possessive and raw, his breathing going ragged. There were better men in this world, Darcy knew, at least by other people's standards. There were taller men, more amiable men, more gentle men. There were men like Steve, all nobility and kindness and a fantastic jawline. There were men like Tony Stark, classy, sassy, and wickedly smart. And then there was Logan, foul-mouthed and rough-edged, smoker, drinker, with a bitter past and who could become a raging animal at times.

Give Darcy Lewis this man any day.

"You only get to say it once," She whispers, as his breathing evens out, "Then I don't want to hear you beatin' yourself up about any of this ever again." She feels him smile, before pulling back to look down at her, running a calloused thumb along her bottom lip, and the now very faint scar there.

"I'm sorry," He murmurs, kissing her forehead, "M'sorry I've got folks that wanna hurt me, and that you had to go through all this on your own," Logan kisses her lips then, firmly, a seal to a promise, "I love you, and I'm sorry and I'll never run again."

"Think you used up your 'once' back there a ways, bub," Darcy grins, burrowing against his chest, the hair there tickling her cheek. She hears the pounding heartbeat under his skin, and everything in her relaxes, slacks. "M'just glad you're back." Darcy doesn't even try to play off the earnest need in her voice, either. The arms around her tighten as she falls asleep.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Despite an incredibly long day that began with him waking up as his plane touched down in New York, Logan can't sleep, and it's mostly due to nerves. His son is healthy, and Darcy will heal up just fine. They're both with him and they're all safe from those out to make his life hell, with one enemy fractured and the other...somewhere beyond the mansion's walls, waiting for them. And that last thought is the one that's keeping him from drifting off every time tonight, despite Darcy's warm limbs wrapped around him, her steadying and lulling breath by his chest.

It's much more real, now that he actually has the family that was waiting for him. His boy, born in a firefight and already tough, already a fighter. Logan doesn't know if James will also get his rage, his claws when he's older, but, well, he'll sure as hell be around for the kid if he does. He hopes he doesn't, though, he's hoping real, real hard. Let his life be easier, let him have the good stuff. Let him have the healing powers and whatever else might be good in Logan, and let him have Darcy and her smile.

Darcy, god-almighty. Girl had been put through hell being attached to Logan, either by him directly or by someone he'd somehow pissed off. She was still with him, though. She'd barreled on through everything thrown at her. He didn't miss it either, even in the chaos of the day, how much older she seemed than when he'd left. Focused, fearless. He's pretty sure his restless, gypsy girl is still in there, but the year's been hard on her, and like she always does, she kicked its ass right back. And she'd kept on waiting for him, too. That twists something in his gut. Honestly, Logan had long ago been resigned to a life lived on his own. He's pretty sure he hasn't done much in his life to deserve the few people who do care about him, let alone the loyalty, the unwavering, deep love of this fierce, beautiful girl curled up to his chest.

He'd left to make himself better, make himself worth her time. Logan knows he'll be working on that last bit for a long time yet, more in love with her than ever.

And all this, his family, is what some brother he hadn't known about, couldn't really remember, wants to rip away. Logan knows he can take Victor Creed. He has before. But even when it was Rogue, even when it was Darcy over a year ago, the stakes hadn't felt so high. It was him, it was the wall of fury, the berserker against another berserker. Logan hadn't known what he had, then. That that girl chained up on the Statue of Liberty would become one of his best friends, that the cute little agent SHIELD threw at him would become his whole world. It shakes him, it makes it hard to sleep. But it also makes his resolve all the firmer.

Maybe those were the worst and best parts about having roots, he muses, fingers brushing over the glass pendant at her neck.

It's 3am when suddenly Logan's not alone in his insomnia, the baby startling him slightly with a sudden, insistent wail. Darcy stirs almost automatically, further surprising the mutant. The Darcy he remembers didn't rise from her sleep coma that easily, even for morning sex. Maternal instincts were impressive things. "Baby." She says in the voice of a sleepy zombie, arms extending. Logan chuckles, shaking his head and rising from the sheets.

"Y'know," He tells her over James' yelping, "Havin' my mutation and all, I'm sure he'd be just fine on formula. Bet it'd filter out any crap easily enough. Oi kiddo, hold on," He catches himself saying that last bit softly, rocking the little guy a few times. The baby does settle slightly, blinking up at him as if spotting his father for the first time. Damn, those big blue eyes...

"Nope, gotta hold out for at least a week," Darcy groans, parts of her clearly still hurting. Logan gently hands over the baby before sliding in behind her, letting her rest back against his chest. Which she does, gratefully, adjusting her wriggy spawn at her breast with a wince, "I've been lugging these fuckers around since I was ten, I feel obligated to justify their existence at least a little."

"Thought I did a plenty good job of that," Logan grins, kissing the back of her neck, feeling her settle against him. Darcy snorts in the dark, laughing, and it's just the best sound.

"Gonna hafta wait a while for your turn, scruffy."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy gets a hug from Phil Coulson the next day. The shock of it is almost equatable to that one time she'd accidentally grabbed Marie's wrist. She'd been waiting for him in one of the lounges at the Mansion for her debriefing. Coulson had told her it could wait, that Natasha's had been quite thorough, but Darcy wasn't for shirking her duties, maternity leave or not. And maybe he was anxious to see her alive and well, because he didn't argue with her for very long before he was in a car leaving the city.

"Sorry I uh, didn't have any office clothes with me," Darcy grins as he lets go, gently helping her back down onto the couch. She's wearing one of Ororo's long, pretty skirts, and a tanktop under one of Logan's flannel shirts. "It'll be a while before they fit again anyway."

"Hardly my first concern, Agent," Phil pauses, hands clasped behind his back. Darcy notices his suit is rumpled, and wonders if he'd slept at all last night. "In regards to Agent Adams...I failed you, Lewis, and for that I am...I cannot fully express my guilt."

"No, stop," Darcy holds up a hand, "I have heard way too many apologies since yesterday morning, Phil, I won't hear any from you. You couldn't know Andrew was compromised. -I- didn't know, and I stalked the kid's Facebook -and- Tumblr blog, convinced he was stealin' my pens." That gets her a little smile from the stoic agent.

"Still. A man can always be more vigilant." He tilts his head, "The baby's all right?"

"He's perfect," Darcy pats the couch next to her, "All right, let's chat this up like friends, while I'm still on leave. Or, yanno...like future Stepfather and daughter."

"Your mother sorely wishes." Phil snorts, sitting. Darcy nearly busts her stitches laughing.

.

.

.

.

.

.

After her terribly unprofessional debriefing, Logan arrives to scoop her up and carry her to the kitchen for lunch. There's a perfectly good wheelchair available for her use but, well, Wolverine's been a little clingy. Darcy doesn't mind one bit either, tucking her head under his chin and savoring the attention. Remy attempts a jab at Logan for going soft only once, before he's reminded that the man still has very sharp, very present claws. Darcy hopes Gambit's hair recovers quickly.

"Phil leave already?" Annabel calls cheerily, holding her grandson in her arms.

"Yes mom, he deftly escaped your wiles, this time," Darcy rolls her eyes as she's set down at a kitchen counter, Logan chuckling in her ear. Jubilee is at her mother's elbow, hands twitching for a chance to hold the baby. Noticing, Annabel carefully hands him over to the teenager.

"Oh well, better luck next time..." She turns, hands on her hips, eying Logan up and down, in his usual t-shirt and jeans. "...So, you're the one. Hrmm."

"...Holy shit, she looks just like you," Logan blinks, only half-flattering, mostly just surprised and awed, Darcy can tell. It still does the trick, and Annabel preens.

"You mean -she- looks just like -me-. This is what you've got to look forward to in fifteen years, son, whatdya say?" Darcy groans, but Logan just grins, nodding once in appreciation. Her mom is appeased. "Good boy. Almost makes up for how old you are and for knocking up my only daughter." She sways out of the room, and Darcy's back to laughing.

"That's the best review she's ever given one of my boyfriends, too," She tells him, as Jubilee follows Annabel out of the kitchen, crooning to the baby, "And that's including the ones she slept with."

"I'd be appalled, but I know what kinda losers you dated before me," Logan shakes his head, sliding a sandwich over to her with a grin.

"Not sure you could call it dating so much as kissin' and runnin', but yeah." Darcy digs into her liverwurst, watching him with a tilted head, "Glad to be home?" Logan shrugs, but she can tell it means more than he'll let on.

"Home," He tries out the word, smirking, "Yeah, guess so. This is actually the first time Jubes has left me alone all mornin', she can't get over that baby," And no, he can't hide the pride in his voice. Darcy swallows.

"Cause I've been thinkin'...and I talked to Phil about it," She begins, and his gaze sharpens. She smiles back, only a little nervously, "...What if I moved here?" A single brow goes up, "I mean, I only have to actually go into the city for work a few times a week, I can do almost everything from here, and you hate the city..." She trails off, biting her lip, watching his face, "...I know neither of us have ever been big on putting down roots or giving a real name to this, but now, with a kid, and all, living together seems..."

"I'd love it," Logan finally responds, cutting her short, a little sheepish as he does, "Sorry darlin', still getting used to the idea that here's home at all...but I want you both here," He reaches over, brushing her hair back from her face, "With me."

"...Listen at you," She whispers, grinning, "Next thing I know, you'll be making an honest woman out of me, Wolvie." Logan shrugs, wry and smirking.

"I might just, one'a these days."

That leaves her gaping, long enough for him to catch her in a kiss.

.

.

.

.

.

.

It's a week before Darcy goes back to the city, and it's with a very twitchy Logan at her side. Really, she appreciates it, but now that she's back on her feet being stuck inside the mansion is a little maddening. She knows it's still not safe out there, she does. But if Victor's out there waiting it's without the protection he had before. Katinka is safely out of reach and Hydra is scattering, exposed without their shield, Charles Xavier now systematically tracking bases in the states and SHIELD raiding them. "I trust you with my safety babe, but both your kid and I need clean clothes."

And so she spends the day packing up her apartment, and notes Logan relax more and more as the day goes on and nothing happens. By evening, the truck parked outside is filled with most of her things. Most furniture she's leaving behind for her mother, who's decided moving to another coast would behoove her. The Mansion has plenty, and honestly, Darcy kind of likes that. Communal living suits her, long as there's a private bedroom involved. Also, she won't have to cook all her own meals. Score.

"Jeez, a kid's never had such swag," Logan snorts, coming up from shoving the last box into the truck, and Darcy laughs, nodding.

"Blame all my good friends for that," She looks around. Aside from furniture, most everything to her name is gone. The last thing they'll pack up is the crib...in the morning, because the person who sleeps in it is kind of on a schedule. Turning back to Logan, Darcy slides her arms around his neck, sighing, "Sorry I can't give you one last tumble in my ol' bed yet, good lookin'. Poor ladyparts are still recovering." There's plenty of actual regret in her voice over that, though. Logan pretends to muse this over.

"Well, there's still more than a few things on the table..."

"...I do like the way you think, sir."

So yes, trouble seems very far away that last night in her old place, when they finally do get around to sleeping. James doesn't seem as restful, waking her up an hour early for his usual 3am feeding. Rising in the dark, Darcy notes the empty spot next to her, still warm. She glances out the window though, and spots Logan leaning, watching the city under a cloud of cigar smoke. She smirks, gingerly leaving the bed and grabbing his discarded shirt off the floor to tug over her head. For some reason, he suddenly had qualms about smoking inside. Never mind that Darcy had always been the one whose lungs were in danger, and that their son would actually be just fine. But hey, man didn't want to smoke around a baby, that was a good habit to get into.

Padding into the near-empty nursery, Darcy plucks up her little guy on one arm, reaching for the buttons of her shirt with the other. "Little early sweetie," She murmurs, sleepily, "Somethin' scare you?"

"Maybe," A low voice behind her chuckles, and suddenly there's a hand full of sharp claws pressed to her neck, a solid wall of flesh behind her, and Darcy freezes in fear. "Not sure why he'd be scared of his own uncle though, what's daddy been sayin' about me, hmm Jimmy?" Victor's looking down at her baby, looking down at her, licking his lips.

Darcy forces herself to stop being immobile with terror real quick.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


	18. Chapter 18

((Endings, alas. Worry not though, this universe will get it's extra bits and bobs as well. For now, I'm going to let my brain go to mush for a bit, and sip tea while watching the end of the world. Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure fanficcing with you. -plays the violin slowly-))

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 18

.

.

.

.

"I would've fought the devil himself to find you..."

Logan, Uncanny X-Force

.

.

.

.

.

.

Instinct is a blessed thing Darcy thinks, distantly, as she whips her head forward and then back, forcefully, knocking Victor between the eyes hard enough for him to release his hold on her with a loud curse. "LOGAN!" She screams, bolting across the room. She hears, rather than sees Victor dive after her, those wicked claws of his digging into her calf and dragging her down to slam onto the hardwood floor of the nursery.

She has just enough time to turn, cushioning her fall from the baby by twisting and landing on her side with bruising force. Fear has an iron grip on her heart, no question. This big mutant, intent on doing fuck knows what to her before killing her, is looming behind her with her blood on his hands and she'd be an idiot not to be terrified. But Darcy's also a fighter, and James is wailing in her arms, and there's no time to be useless. She kicks her heel into Victor's face, hard, ignoring the ripping pain in her leg as it wrenches free from his claws. Scuttling backward, she's aware of how useless running is as he bears down on her, snarling, claws out, all toying, cruel humor gone now. Darcy finds herself snarling right back though, even as her death seems imminent.

And then he's gone. He's tumbling away, another fierce, feral figure tearing into him, and Darcy draws in a deep breath, both relieved and hyped up all over again. Logan is raging, and fast, and violent. But Victor is fast too, taking glee in his rage where Wolverine is pissed, their claws slashing at each other furiously, bloodily. Darcy only allows herself to hyperventilate for a quick moment, and then she's diving into the bedroom, grabbing her purse. Her fingers wrap around the barrel of her gun, her baby clutched to her chest, and a small amount of calm returns to her, even as the sounds of a snarling, vicious fight goes on behind her.

"Y'did all right this time, Jimmy," Victor exclaims, as the two of them grapple in a headlock, "Got real far! But I can't abide lettin' you just go on, livin' like a..."

Neither of them find out what Logan's living like, though. Darcy fires off a few rounds, breathing hard and aiming for the clearest part of Victor she can hit, his arm. It's enough. He roars, angry and hot, dropping Logan and diving for her again. It's all the opening Wolverine needs, twisting, snarling, and sending a fist into Victor's chin, and then three long adamantium claws puncture up through his flesh and bone.

"Stay the hell away from my family, bub."

He retracts the claws with a 'snikt'. Sabretooth drops, limp and lifeless, for now, to the floor.

"Call Charles," Logan gasps, allowing himself to double over for a moment, bleeding and torn, wounds all over his chest and arms closing over slowly, "We only got so long before he's up again..." But then he's diving for her even as she dives at him, gripping her hair and dragging her up for a kiss, hard and fierce. Darcy kisses him right back, biting his lip hard, and giving Victor's still body another sharp kick for good measure.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Four Months Later

.

.

.

.

.

.

The dust is settling, finally, and the sounds of the fight outside are dwindling. Darcy picks her way over the rubble that had once been a shopping mall, coughing to clear her throat as she taps her earpiece, stumbling out into the open, "Oi, Phil!" She calls, squinting up and down the street, gun still in hand, "All clear on Park, how about your way?"

"Hulk has destroyed my favorite deli, but otherwise we're clear," Coulson's voice responds, flatly. Darcy sighs, grinning, tucking her gun back into her waistband. And then she jumps, startled, as one after the other Captain American and Wolverine leap down to the ground in front of her.

"Jee-zus, a little warning?" She grunts, just as she's yanked into the latter's arms. He's a mess, and so is Cap, covered in blood and dust and alien slime. Darcy knows she doesn't look much better though, her long-suffering, over-dry-cleaned suit possibly on its last leg. She wraps her arms around her grubby superhero gratefully, "You guys get the ship down?" She asks, around Logan's insistent lips. Steve nods.

"Yeah, it made quite the dent in Central Park," He clears his throat, and the two of them draw apart, grinning, "Sorry if we've made lots of paperwork for you, Agent."

"Was it Hulk who brought it down?" Darcy arches a brow, and Logan nods, grinning, "Ha! Then no, you've made lots of paperwork for -Phil-," She winks, "I liaise for the X-Men, Cap'n Rogers, or have you forgotten?"

"Roger that, I get to disappoint my biggest fan yet again," He heaves a long-suffering sigh, as the sirens start wailing and the helicopters return to the sky above.

"Better get home and kiss that baby girl, before they make you come back out and talk at the media," Logan smirks, and Steve gives a salute.

"Don't need to tell me twice...hell, I wish I was a huge dick too, Wolverine. No one ever asks you to do crowd control," Steve grins, dodging the fist sent his way, but Logan's snorting too. The two of them, being friends is still a miracle to Darcy. She blames Superhero Parenthood, they're kind of the only ones in that club nowadays. Steve runs off, and Darcy shoves off Wolverine's cowl, giving him a properly hot, long kiss, fingers scraping his scalp.

"Let's blow this busted up joint, baby, I've got a shower stall on the helicarrier with your name on it." She murmurs, and gets exuberantly thrown over his shoulder in reply, laughing.

.

.

.

.

.

.

He still goes to see him, at least once a week now. Logan stands outside the jail cell and stares at his brother, as Victor bides his time behind bars. It seems like Logan's always there after a fight, these days. Blood freshly scrubbed off his hands, from between his knuckles, looking Victor in the eye as he paces his reenforced cell, a caged animal, a waiting predator. And every time, Logan asks the same things, resting his arms on the bars.

"Who were our parents?" He rumbles, "Where were we born, who are our people..."

"Eh, can't quite recall," The older mutant smirks, every time, leaning back against the far wall, far from the claws. "Still keepin' that cute piece of ass around? How's m'nephew?"

"Go to hell," Logan growls, turning and leaving, even as his blades come out. All he ever gets is bitter snark and half-truths, and that's when Victor's feeling generous. Logan won't stop coming here though, to this prison within a prison, this death row within death row. Logan wants to know. He wants to know what to tell his son as he comes up, about where he comes from. That boy is becoming more and more to him, every day, the child he fights for.

But then again...if the only person James shares a bloodline with, on Logan's side anyway, is Victor? Maybe it won't be the worst thing, if they never find out. The kid has Darcy, her family, and two teams of crazy, yet good-hearted heroes who love him. And James has Logan, who's beginning to trust himself, to believe that hey, he might not be perfect, but he's all right, he's a good father. He'll try anyway, try 'til he's bloody, for his son. So no, maybe the past isn't as important as he thinks.

Still, though, Logan won't stop trying. And he sure as hell won't stop making sure that the guard on Victor Creed remains vigilant.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy leaves a kiss on the tiny hand brushing her face, nuzzling her baby one more time before handing him over to his grandmother. "We'll be back in a week, week and a half at most." She says for what feels like the millionth time, shrugging on her own soft, worn-in leather jacket. It's late August and Annabel has come up from the city to watch James, the added adult presence quite welcomed by everyone else, as the school fills back up for the coming semester. The woman just smiles presently, though, a little too knowingly.

"Sure you will," Is all she says, lightly, "You kids have fun. But please, do us all a favor and don't come back pregnant again."

"Fuck no," Logan smirks, kissing James on top of the head, before heading for the door, "Love ya kid, but one heart attack atta time."

"Old men, seriously," Darcy hugs her mother one more time, James and all, before grabbing her helmet from the kitchen table, "Be good for Nana, y'hellion." James just gurgles happily, giving her a toothless smile and flailing his little arms.

Outside everything is still green and lush, in a last brilliant push before the autumn. Up north, though, things are already getting cold, and she and Logan have a standing date with the illogical weather up there. "Think we'll actually make it to Halfmast this time, before aliens invade or somethin'?" Darcy asks, grinning, swinging onto the bike behind Logan. She buckles on her helmet and her arms wrap around his waist, tight and warm. It's still the most settling feeling, she marvels, being with him like this. Some pleased feeling curls up near her heart, where they're tethered to each other. She knows it's mutual too, his warm chuckle reaching her as he lights up a cigar.

"Maybe. If not, well," He shrugs, glancing behind them at the portcullis of the mansion, the students coming and going, the little person inside who'll still be waiting for them when they come back, "...Not th' worst thing inna world, is it darlin'?"

Darcy bites her lip, grinning. "Nah, not really." She gives him a squeeze, as the bike starts rumbling under her, and they head for the gates, the wind sending her hair fanning out behind her. No, it really wasn't the worst thing, being tethered. Because out there was still a whole lot, sure. Lots to see, lot's to taste and roll around in, lots of clean, wild air to drink in deep lungfuls of. Freedom was still out there.

Difference was that now, there was definitely a home to come back to, a home to miss, even, for both of them.

And Darcy really, really likes that feeling. She's glad Logan does, too.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


End file.
